Her dry, cracked hands reek of affection,
reek of life and everything warm.
Harsh but soft?
Her lips chapped, her throat dried the last century,
yet she sings when she mourns.
A bitter sweet melody,
a bitter bitter ache along.
And whenever I am lost,
like I've been a lot already,
A stranger who means everything,
somehow pulls me up.
Ah, these old rattled bones.
