That's her over there, schmoozing with some university donors, no doubt." So are you an artist, then?" God, no. I write books. Dry, scholarly stuff. N...thing artistic about it." So just a connoisseur of fine, student artwork, then." She had a funny, sharp way of talking that perfectly matched her sparkling eyes. She turned back to her painting. "So, what do you think it means? Tell me about this piece. Pretend it's not mine and that you won't break my heart if you don't only say nice things.". At the maggots as they crawl in and out.She stares. Behind her hooded eyes her pupils widen. Her eyes are black.I lean over her, I touch her cheek, her neck, the softness of her ear. I touch her breast. I feel her.I watch as her hidden eyes look down my body. My ravaged chest; black gore and torn flesh that were once my sweet breasts. As sweet as hers. Sweeter. Kissed by Him.My hands touch her body. My hands, my tortured hands: their broken bones and gouged nail holes that weep slowly to my. More

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