I love every part of you that takes a bit of me. Feeling your flesh stretch over my tip, down to the heel, slamming against the bolster. My tools are a part of me. This knife is me and I’m your last lover. We don’t even know each other’s names. I’ll know yours tomorrow. You’ll be famous in the papers. You look so different. Why did I pick you? They won’t even look at the date. They’ll scratch their heads while I look at the new girl on my wall.