promontory

but at home it was always at night, never in the morning. while she was drifting a

man in a blue swandri came along and stopped by the toilet. he unzipped his zip.

the cave opened up into sunlight - and it was full of butterflies, the size of hands,

she moved forward, bringing her chest in to her knees, disturbing the

torsoes, mobile in the silence. everything was shining, it was just a bath,

there was nothing stupid about it. the cliffs were sheets of hanging stuff, isinglass

crisped into land forms. “that’s embarrassing,” he said, and tucked himself in.

now there would be no problem fitting her in with the dentist. kiwis cried out

in the bush, and cold came up through her wet feet. she exchanged the shoes

for a pair of white crocs, taking the first of the thirty pairs. it was  over

very quickly. there was nowhere in her mouth for tartar to collect.

together they stroked the dust away from the lower porcelain.