RIC: What are you made of, you red kimono?

RK: I am made of menstrual blood and the juice of a thousand blood oranges. 

RIC: How old are you? 

RK: I am as old as your first sex dream. 

RIC: Which life did you prefer to dress? 

RK: I never preferred to dress. I only preferred to undress. 

RIC: What skin do you remember?

RK: I remember a mix of my own skin and yours. 

RIC: Do you remember a hand that untied you, half opened, then knocked you to down to the ground?

RK: I don’t just remember the hand. I remember the whole body. Each part. 

RIC: What smells did you take care of?

RK: Bombay gin, vetiver, Fragonard’s Emilie, and fish. Too much fish. 

RIC: There is a spot next to the right breast, tell me its story. 

RK: There was a man in my last life who used to suck a particular spot on my right breast each time we made love (millions of times). So, in this life I was born with a tiny red spot *exactly* there. Waiting for him to suck it. 

RIC: Who would you like to be on, right now, or not to be? 

RK: You. 

RIC: In memory of a Sufi patient, please define life in two words. 

RK: Untie me.