There is a time to dismantle pain, long after the event, when the gap has been filled by another. Once the ripped heart is less raw, no longer exposed to the elements, I can feast on it in the lonely hours, sensually explore it. A new body stretches, teeth fresh white; never had to root through garbage. He inhabits new experiences, exuberant, careless. He sheds clothes as rapidly as I climb into them; pants through the heat I shiver through. There is a time to dismantle pain, but I am still not ready to open the book of him.