The mnemonic quality of her buttocks, "The Angelic One."

She is standing just inside the screen. She may have been
there before I was aware of her. I may have been aware of
her before she was there.

She is facing me. A certain bemusement in her eyes.
Though it is not as if I am not aware of her total semetry--
her light, close-cropped hair, he slender, naked feet.

She has a finger upon her lips, admonishing silence--as
if I were the talkative one. Or else a signal for secrecy.
As if our world is not totally our world alone. Perchance, is
it. If not ours, whose?

She tip-toes, conspiritorially, to my bed-side, just
perceptibly swaying--her slender limbs.

She kisses me lightly on the lips. An instant I felt
the lightness of her breath there--though her lips are closed
as they touch my own closed lips.

my member is erect and pulsing.

She grabs my nose playfully, using it to wag my head
with lightly. She kisses it quickly, barely touching the tip
of it with the tip of her tongue. Tere is again that fleeting
gesture of silence, or secrecy.

She moves away quickly, unaffected, nearing the screen.

How luminous and perfect her beauty is, statuesque now
in motionlessness.

Except. Her back to me.

She is slowly flexing her buttocks. Contracting the
muscles slowly, very firmly--relaxing them quickly, almost
with a thump.

This in perfect silence, stillness.

Suddenly she bends forward, deeply, from her hips.
She spread the closed cheeks of her buttocks with her two
perfect, naked hands.

The mnemonic quality of my fucking ass-hole, the mnemonic
quality of my fucking cunt, she mockingly trilled.

Editor's note: Mr. Crews still resides in Albuquerque and
is in failing physical health, although mentally alert and
lucid. Anyone who wishes to contact him in support may get
his mailing address or phone number by emailing me.