There are muted voices from the other side of the door and a glimpse through the keyhole of her body. Yeah, that body, the one that sings to me in the dead of night causing me to wake and light a cigarette with trembling hands. Behind the door, there are lifeforms that resemble my own, but our perspectives are as different as the moon is to the sun. Her body rules them all, though, and as others shift and fade into obscurity, hers becomes the oceans and the lands and as my palms itch and turn sweaty, she flowers and divides and flowers and divides. It’s neither the past nor the present. It’s not here, and it’s not now. There are stars but no heaven. It could be any hour from any year since we first collided, and yet this moment is the same every time. The second our lips meet as piano music drifts from the streets up to our window, there’s no telling where the fire will take us, no telling at all. But where we end up is never the same as where we have been before, except it’s always the night we first kissed. Strange, don’t you think? Pressing my ear against the door, I unbuckle my belt and stroke myself off to the sight of those black tights and those deep, brown eyes. As she spreads herself, I spit and hiss and claw while taking myself to the brink. Outside, rains falls, and the wind blows. The night is our collector, and yet she is God. Pressing my face against the cool, damp wood, I close my eyes and inwardly gaze at where I came from and just like that I slip away.