The desire to write on your body. We will sit on the bed, oblivious, and write upon each other's bodies with deft concentration. *Nous nous ecrirons.* I'll save some of the best for your collarbones. How long could this go on? For we are mere mortals, mere writers.
When all the skin of each of us is covered with writing, we will begin filling in the empty spaces offered by margins and loops. On your body I will write a tiny poem, four hundred lines perhaps, in the loop of a "d". This "d" will be found at the end of the word *sound*, written earlier on the smooth outer curve of your breast, itself the end of a poem. When all these margins and loops are filled, we must write more tinily yet. (It is a difficult but necessary word, tinily. In this it is like the word *anankschen*.) We take breaks to eat, make love or read. And we write on each others bodies:--*s'ecrire*. Our love a lesson in writing's grammar *muss sein*. I desire to write the history of the [ ] on your body.
Where do I begin?
Down between your thighs..........................