lady, a gift from Canada. First I bit off her head, allowed the chocolate to melt in my mouth; then I thrust my tongue into the cavity of her body, licked clean her caramel filling and sucked her shell, lingering over the last, cloying mouthful. Now I'm standing at the window, the glass so frosty it's like Toronto in winter. I'm seeing a darkened room: my nipples haloed, your lips glistening in the streetlight falling through the slit of half-opened curtains. Still life When I die, I want to be buried in an eco-pod the colour of the Rothko print on my wall, the hue of love bites, bruises, dried blood. At my funeral I want Maria Callas singing Un Bel Di and Otis Redding's 'Try a Little Tenderness', although on the day I might change my mind and go for Che gelida manina , 'Children of the Revolution', Janis Joplin roaring her heart out in 'Get it While You Can'. Either way, it's tears and laughter I'm after, no stiff upper lips -- stiffness being restricted to the pants of ex-lovers and husbands,