They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.
I read that when cats are cuddling and kneading you, and you think it's cute, they're really just checking your vitals for weak spots.
Is bread the better for kneading? so is the heart. Knead it then by spiritual exercises; or God must knead it by afflictions.