Articulacy of fingers the language of the deaf and dumb, signing of the body. Body longing. Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I fear meeting someone with reading hands, in case they translate me into their own book.
In silence and in darkness we loved each other and as I traced his bones with my palm I wondered what time would do to skin that was so new to me. Could I ever feel less for this body? Why does ardour pass? Time that withers you will wither me. Will we fall like ripe fruit and roll down the grass together? Dear friend, let me lie beside you watching the clouds until the earth covers us and we are gone.
‘Written on the Body’ Jeanette Winterson – page 89-90