Am I a woman? At least I have the form and lines of a woman and the indination to enjoy it. I don’t know what is to be a women, unless from the desire I have of men and the peasure I myself enjoy of being a man like any other….me, the spouse of this woman, this other me, the one whose image appears in the mirror: this woman who, every morning, I dress in underwear and clothes that make me want to undress again and whom, every night. I lay down, naked in a bed of love. Eyes closed, lying naked in the black of night. I see myself, bright and qurvening, in the core of my shell. My flesh is an oyster shell soft pearly, tightly closed yet knowing how to open up with the slowness of a rose to allow the salt of the world to enter me eyes closed, alone in my bed at night. [download]
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