I looked silently at her lips. All women are lips, all lips. Some are pink and firmly round: a ring, a tender guardrail from the whole world. And then there are these ones: a second ago they weren't here, and just now - like a knife-slit - they are here, still dripping sweet blood.
Now I no longer live in our clear, rational world; I live in the ancient nightmare world, the world of square roots of minus one.
The whole world is one immense woman, and we are in her very womb, we are not yet born, we are joyfully ripening.
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