I cough and the blood seeps out of my vagina, red on white, the lost caresses trickling out between my thighs, lost laughs sticking to my legs like crimson. I once held the night in my palm like a glass figurine, ready to shatter. Now I cradle the shards between my fingers, seeking to reforge the pieces into a king's sword. Who can tell what the shape will be? Only the night's keen silence is awake to my longing.