He returned to the park bench. He felt as if he’d revealed a part of himself when he wrote: ‘I don’t know where she is. I don’t know how she s...iles. I don’t know what makes her eyes sparkle. I know I am waiting. I know my body aches for her! I know she will make me tingle!’ He laid the paper on the park bench. He knew it would probably just blow away again, but at least the writing of the poem had changed the pace of his day returning home from work. He had voiced hopes he didn’t often let. Every morning, she and Sister Admonition would administer to each other the rites of purification as they shaved each other's pate and the hair of their crotches. Sister Divine felt a kind of aching pang as she removed the last trace of stubble from Sister Admonition's labia, most especially when she was aware that her cellmate looked down on her at her labours. And she hid as best she could the warm feeling emanating from within when Sister Admonition returned the favour and shaved clean her. More

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