Oct 19, 2008

 

 

A woman groans, far back in her throat, nearly whimper
wrought with sexuality. She is warm, lonely, naked
and in pain meted out spasmodically. She is the species
incarnate, twisted upon her blankets, with an illness
beyond cure. Why mention it-- Lust and love; admiration
and pity? Yes, of course-- And as a wish for better.