And I even see her hair getting wet over her neck, and the colors and her breath also appeals to me as something I love. Something I could hold with hands, but not for long. She’s resistant. When I sly my face, smooth as hers, over her cheek, she gives it up, as this texture reminds her how look-a-like we are. She crumbles as she would crumble to the one she most loves. She crumbles as she would crumble to herself.
