Lying still and naked like a gutted fish, I feel his hands hold mine tightly, sweat prickling up between us in little round, shining beads. He whispers in my ear I love you, but all I can think of is a piñata, the way they stuffed me up with eggs – small, ugly and little, nothing like the decorative Easter eggs with pink and purple and polka dots – all of them fertilized in little dishes with his sperm; a sad and desperate little garden. Feeling broken now, torn up and hanging from a tree, as if its all going to spill out of me like the Red Nile. I know their names; taste them on my lips as he kisses me. His hand reaches to my thighs, speckled with needle punctures, then to my buttocks bruised from deep injections. It will be the same this month: hollowed and empty – the core of me dried up and shriveled like a prune. His breath tickles my ear lobe and I think don’t touch me.