I Am Fed Up. I Am Fed

But When I Do Feel All The Strength Go Out Of Me, And I Fall To My Knees Beside The Table And I Think I Cry, Then, Or At Least I Want To, And Everything Inside Me Screams For Just One More Kiss, One More Word, One More Glance, One More.

Just Do What You're Supposed To.

You're Not Very Nice," I Say, Grinning. "you're One To Talk." "hey, I Could Be Nice If I Tried." "hmm." He Taps His Chin. "say Something Nice, Then." "you're Very Good-looking." He Smiles, His Teeth A Flash In This Dark. "i Like This 'nice' Thing.

I Know That I Am Birdlike, Made Narrow And Small As If For Taking Flight, Built Straight-waisted And Fragile. But When He Touches Me Like He Can't Bear To Take His Hand Away, I Don't Wish I Was Any Different.

He Touches My Face, Covering My Cheeks With His Hands, Sliding His Fingertips Down My Neck, Fitting His Fingers To The Slight Curve Of My Hips. I Can't Stop.