By firelight you sew her out of pieces of your skin, stitch her together. Feed her as she grows nails, a spine, consciousness. Soft organs pull inward to hide her sex.
She is a creature of purity. Uncontaminated, unexperienced, unenlightened. A vessel for love.
You rub her by the heat of fire-warmed stones; watch her as she takes a breath.
Cut from the same cloth, I am made of you, but I am not you. In the end there is always, only you.