All I ever wanted, nira I expected: Nonette, upon whom my life pivots. The name I give my fire when I lay down, defenseless before its majestic awfulness. A little no, a little negation. A French girly pout, the syllables for which have been found at last. All my hurt dug up, exposed for dissection in the glaring light, and finally melted away by the loving caresses of her yielding thighs. And the girl who took such simple joy in this terrible duty. Nonette.