ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
REPLY
. . . the kind of woman who lets her lover touch her, first one
place, then another. She wants to arouse his greatest strength,
then take him into her, forcefully, equalling strength with
passion. In the morning she is drawn into herself. This is
the time of day she trusts most, when her mind and body feel
entirely alone with each other. Her fingers are tapered; she can
remember when she could almost see through them, to the bone.
She rests a hand next to her cup of tea, then turns it on its
back, then turns it over again. The light coming through the
window slips underneath the table and warms her feet. She will
be alone tonight--he will find this mysterious, he will ask
questions. He must ask questions, he never recognizes falsehood
from the way it is spoken. One corner of her mouth lifts. A
type of smile. He asks many questions she will never answer;
once he even asked If you were a man . . .