On the matter of climbing and support Men had a way of leaving bits of themselves behind when they left her. There, behind the door stood a spine -- all that was left of one particular Man of War, while another's heart beat beneath her bed, its owner's jealous eyes staring from an adjacent cupboard. She tried to muffle the sound of lips smacking in the parlor, still greedy for kisses; the hiss of a summer's sea oozing from a pair of ears, while her girlfriends laughed at her trophies, thought she'd be better off with an alimony check. Not for them this collection of man parts anyone could see weren't all that valuable even when attached to their former owners, the kind of flotsam you gather eagerly enough on vacation but never bother to bring home. Painting by Dieric Bouts