Anus
She spoke to me in a shrill painful tone. I heard nary a word that shot from her terse cracked lips. I could tell that she was talking about something that mattered to her and the people she associates with. I wanted to understand truly I did. However I would not. Every sound she made seemed alien. It was not, however, any fault of hers. I must assume total responsibility for our failure to communicate. It was I, after all, who was obsessed with the shape and texture of her anus. Damn my obsession. And bless it all the same.
