The rolling of the curtains,
Shimmering silvery black,
In an instant woke me up,
Stretched the curves in one, two, three.
A backbone bent unbroken,
A detour along the way,
A chosen path of loving,
Walking slowly in four, five, six.
Then the curtains rolled again,
My last piece of hope awaits,
Body laid and tied on the bed,
Pushed and pulled in seven, eight, nine.
Patiently watching the clock,
Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen,
"Cling!" alarmed the traction bed,
I rose and rolled the curtains away.