in the black, i put her back aiming for a familiar position. her legs grew apart but her face remained with a constantly panting remark of "i would miss you." i filled my lungs with nicotine from last night's cigarette on the ash tray she won from a bachelor's bet. she implied my dropping vigor, my flailing health, but who would notice, i say, if i vanish? i elfishly exist; i do whatever i want, whenever i want. i don't like chances that blur other chances. we argue again if it was fate or coincidence we are trapped in the same room again and we count down wasted evidences that may end this argument, but we don't want it to end. this is a fine example of a stable whirlpool, like a laundry dryer spinning our mess in perpetual motion. and our hearts must know no weight to it. just like her rapid roll-over after she has laid back with her hands clasped between her bosom for a long time. i feel it too, the numb crackle sliding out of her hot veins. she would know no boundary, no limit, to stretch the entirety of the sheets, even if i'm in it, even if there are stains. this is her world, i knew it, i used to second-guess. here i am, a cheek-less leukemia-ridden bone machine, a lap to dance upon by cat woman clad in white flesh.