There is a haunting voice in an old house. The voice comes from the interstices, in the gaps, where only here can the moan and tenderness be breathed. Encased in a visual poetry is the monologue of a transgender person—in its purest sense, always mediating normative understandings of what is "female" and "male"—for herself, her limót lover, and to those that bite the groin and skin, or it can also be the expression of doubts, and transitive decisions of a body that always intervenes.