i am looking at her and she is so perfectly innocent. her eyes are open, searching, waiting; she is so active, in motion, peering through those dull lenses at a fantastically alive world. what does it mean to be woman? does she quiver her body through when she has orgasm, arching her spine back, lapsing into a coma of a second while her brain waves communicate with the ethereal? and then back down to the dullness of her limbs, back to earth to search out the next one and the next one that needs doing, fixing, completion. pleasure is an innocence grown repetitious.