When your fading memory bites down into my shoulder,

I can feel it coming over.

It’s the same warmth I recall

When you sat on the bathroom counter,

Keeping me company

During an evening shower.

With your hypochondriac ranting

Your diagnosis for me

Was perfection,

And the medicine was

Carried in your scent.

Even now it surges

through me,

Gets me high.

Gets me right.