Lost

I wear a simple white long shirt and sit on the floor in the Indian style sitting. I hold a fresh liver of beef in my womb. I massage this liver, pet it, hold it in my arms. Constantly my view is on the liver. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry. Blood flows at my shirt on the floor. I stand up, my shirt is red. I close my eyes and hold the liver on my cheek. I snuggle the liver.