Francis was in the doorway. He stood with one black-gloved hand on the knob, looking at me like I was a lunatic. I stopped struggling and fell back on my pillow. I was so glad to see him I felt like laughing, and I was so doped up I probably did. “François,” I said idiotically.

[icon][/icon][status]It’s not a metaphor, this ache.[/status][lz]every night i put you together—bone by delicate bone.[/lz][sign]i am all mouth.[/sign]