Our shirt has become your arms around me, so I can be embraced by you always. I will wear it in my sleep. I will slip into its sleeves when I am clean, straight from the bath. It will bring me back to Rue Saint Martin. It will bring me back to the long road to the castle, walking and talking with you. It will bring me back to your rented room on Avenue Victoria. It will bring me your voice talking me to sleep, your lips against my cheek, your eyes on my body. It will bring me back to you, as it brings me back to myself.