Sometimes, when the moon is strong enough to make me weep, I take a stranger into my bed.

There is something about a man's finger in my vagina that fills a bigger space. I can pretend the love.

Sometimes I don't wash myself for two days after making love. I'm afraid that if I rinse off the lingering scent of sex that I will disappear into the clearness of the water. That place where all the other men in my life have evaporated.