Where is my Henry? He believed in my life. His hands were my triumph. He loved where I felt empty and never asked in return. He laughed. He watched my...eyes when he laughed. He made me shake with something I had not known ever. I wasn’t afraid when I slept. My child churns inside, now awake, part of the account of the dream and it pushes backward, banging against the inside of my mouths. I am not empty. My cunt is filled, and the pulse inside, shifts, and I watch the skull emerge, more horrible. Once we were finally in the kitchen I fixed us both a drink - whiskey sour for him and a screwdriver for me. Moving back to the living room, he pulled me onto his lap and we chatted for a while, slowly sipping the strong drinks. “Michael,” I started, “you're the very first man I've ever been with and I want to thank you for being so gentle, yet forceful, in teaching me. I can never thank you enough.” “Oh, I'm sure we can think of something.” “Name it,” I replied quickly. “Well, you started. More

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