At first, I cannot tell your body from the mass, where this one mounted that one, that one squealed. Eventually, the line that marks your ass from others' limbs and asses is revealed. Your face is framed, jaw clenching, eyes shut hard, with hoarse, near-breathless moans surrounding you. But, quietly, your grimace drops its guard. A sad expression forms, then fades from view. Has someone said, "You look like shit today?" A troubled friend needs cash you can't provide? Perhaps that dog you loved has run away. Or has your cancer-stricken mother died? Or is it that your grief is mine as well? The ache we share. The ache we can't expel.