I was once bare boned and naked. Sketched as an honorable heroin. Apparently pencil fades quickly and erases effortlessly, so I took all the drawings and wrapped them in a burlap sack. When the cold season comes I'll throw them in the fireplace and watch my passion fuel the fire. Until then I'll trace every line in pen and hang it as a painting because he made me beautiful. I'm still bare boned and naked, but only because I shed the skin he got under to leave it at the bus stop where we departed so he could use it as a blanket. I want him to stay warm while he sharpens his pencils.