A hundred days of solitude, she whispered,

time to take back what was yours, peace in your time,

time in which to breathe easy in the dying decaying air

and kiss me,

truly kiss me, not with passion or with hunger for what

lays beneath the ragged shirt and muscles betrayed

by the press of a button somewhere by a young kid

with sweating palms, but kiss me

though I was once loved by Gods,

one adored by the sound of a cello and violin

teasing each other back and forth, true love in the balcony,