When Did I Stop Being

With A Secret Like That, At Some Point The Secret Itself Becomes Irrelevant. The Fact That You Kept It Does Not.

...poking A Lump Of Red Jello That Jiggles Outrageously, Like A Breast I Once Knew.

I Am Ninety. Or Ninety-three. One Or The Other.

Sometimes When You Get Older — And I’m Not Talking About You, I’m Talking Generally, Because Everyone Ages Differently — Things You Think On And Wish On Start To Seem Real. And Then You Believe Them, And Before You Know It They’re Part Of Your History, And If Someone Challenges You On Them And Says They’re Not True — Why, Then You Get Offended Because You Can’t Remember The First Part. All You Know Is That You’ve Been Called A Liar.

I Stroke Her Lightly, Memorizing Her Body. I Want Her To Melt Into Me, Like Butter On Toast. I Want To Absorb Her And Walk Around For The Rest Of My Days With Her Encased In My Skin. I Lie Motionless, Savoring The Feeling Of Her Body Against Mine. I'm Afraid To Breathe In Case I Break The Spell.