Arm

My favorites among my limbs and my many patches of skin—anything he asks for that belongs to him—I want to keep those. A nice bright unsealed box of his he did not, in fact, give me, I want.

I could not relieve myself of an entire region, please! I want to keep those.

There is a nice naturalness of his I’ll keep. His seriousness of purpose which he advances, I want.

I am so tired, though, of a nice bright sensation.

Back it goes to him!

My patience is his.