i pressed everything against the glass and waited for a pulse. i removed the limbs, first. they folded nicely on the horizon- it was only fitting that they should pull, press, rush, and calm, every morning into night. next, the lungs were removed -and quickly- separated. without the heart between them they fight for air, and a place to put it. once apart, their arrest is apparent and the shell that remains carries the breath of aging at this point, i felt safe removing the senses. they grow tired without the necessary attention. but without hands or voice, sight, sound, taste, and scent, are easily etched from hiding. once removed, they caress my casual advances within all four seasons; i placed the eyes, in spring, so that they should not recall the harshness of winter. the tongue, and both ears, will forever battle for the last breath of fall upon the first sigh of winter. but every inch of nerve will sit calmly in the thunderstorms of iowa summer.