In my strange dream last night she shrinks before my eyes, she ages backwards.
She is twenty three in the coffee shop. Her eyes don't dart around, they look on steadily in the context of her love life, which is now so much better than her college years. My professional lover whose new happiness, which begins at her clitoris and ends in her anus, embues everything that she does.
She is sixteen in the front seat, at the beach. She would like to introduce you to her friend the cervix. Quite mysterious and hard to reach, it's a dark skinned man with a funny accent, it's eastern Philosophy.
She's drunk on the power of her growing breasts. Lying eyes closed on the sand, her ecstasy rides the waves.
She's a little girl now, doddelling around her bed, her hand always on something sturdy so she does not fall. Her stare is ignorant. Her voice is something she will mimic in her 30s. She has not been plucked like a dandelion from the field by the stares of men yet, she has learned no lessons of power.
My darling DNA. My disciple who has not learned to imitate what I want her to be.