Ecce Homo

I. I remember, I think, it was at the beginning or the end of the 5th or 8th of a far moment. You squeezed my hand in the dark, a touch that now is a flashlight in a fading movie theater. II. I remember, I think, her hands around my pelvis. I and the motorcycle and a warm body behind me. Two of her fingers laid on my crotch, urging me to ride faster or slower, it takes time to recall the speed of such blurs. III. I remember, I think, the girl, her hands on my shoulders, both of us standing on discarded clothes. Her dark eyes entering mine, opening herself, but also asking; inquiring. Only now does my mask slip.