Get up and leave? Not yet, damn it.The poetry. Remember the poetry. Why? Maybe it'll take your mind off this damn nervousness. He began tapping the rh...thm on the tabletop. The singsong syllables struggled to emerge from his larynx, then he set them free and chanted. First under his breath, then with growing confidence as the power took hold of him. The woman had turned around and was staring at him. Her eyes were... immense pools of darkness.He starts jabbering some kind of nonsense. Can't. ‘Well, all right,’ you mutter. And you begin to write! In the meantime, I admire your hand strokes as you scribble down what it is that you have to say. Apparently, it’d seem that you may have always had something you wanted to express, but perhaps you were initially reluctant to share it. And now with your brand-new enthusiasm, surely at last I can see you publishing your thoughts. But what’s it that you’re writing? Is it a sexual fantasy, a secret desire, or even a fetish? And maybe,. There was a visible line on my 5'10" tall frame from the surgery scar. It had been before the days of laparoscopic surgery. It was a battle scar left over after the surgeon had a fight with my gallbladder back in college. Needless to say, my gall badder didn't stand a chance as the surgeon had come to the fight with knives!The potbellied, frumpy body I had back then was long gone now having been replaced by almost chiseled muscular body. It was the result of twenty-two years of practicing Ju. It was the only prayer, other than the Lord's Prayer and that bless this bed verse, that she could recall.The fisherman took her to her own rickety dock, and she paid and thanked him after he helped pile her goods on the worn planking. She sat on her dome-topped trunk and watched him tack out toward the sluggish Chester River and straighten his wide rudder. Now, she decided, I am really on my own. She sought a word, a term for it, and decided that "transformation" was a pretty good fit. I am.