This morning I drew, as the bath ran, my long body into shadow, feeling my self delicious, as if laughter and desire were weathers over lands to which we, should we wish it, could quite simply ride. Do not wear a cork again, to the open bottle I said. In the cold of that shade and the water I drank nearly a sentence I stole while you passed me off your tongue. Then my nakedness rose high enough with the angled sun for clothes to make less sense, and in an act of madness which often we all together do I stood, dressed, ate, and stepped trailing dreamed-up puddles slyly out the hilarious drunken door.
