odd to think

"Odd to think that the piece of you that I know the best is already dead. The cells on the surface of your skin are thin and flat without blood vessels or nerve endings. Dead cells, thickest on the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet. Your sepulchral body, offered to me in the past tense, protects your soft centre from the intrusions of the outside world. I am one such intrusion, stroking you with necrophiliac obsession, loving the shell laid out before me. The dead you is constantly being rubbed off by the dead me..."
(j.winterson)

How beautifully grotesque! Words arranged in a fashion that render me defenseless.

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