Parts of her are disappearing slowly. What used to be mine…swallowed inside the gyrating hole of another being. Can I have a piece? Of what used to be mine? She takes what she’s given me and gives it to somebody else. Living in chains of donation. He can have my physicality until I withdraw, pass it on. He’s not done with me emotionally, until she comes along with the sweeping hair and long heart. Giving parts of ourselves away like a game of telephone…transmitted through the line…always distorted on the other end.