Behind the ribs she hides her love, there burns a desire of being loved. Between the lips she keeps her words, significant pieces of tender fondness. And I read to her about distant forms, and I sing to her a mournful lullaby, and we both chat together about sorrow and joy, woe and bliss; silence. She sounds and she speaks and she talks, she shouts and she screams as she walks, she falls on my arms and I clean all her dust, she sings to me and time seems to be lighter. I wish it rained upon our huge little heads, and we could wash away each other's pain, and stay together and be a pair of old friends, I'll love her truly to the end of my days.