Mouth

I like to supply myself with a diluted sensibility.
I find it comforting to know I can get as wet as I want.
Consider my surprise when I awoke to find myself strapped for time and dripping.

I wasn’t making something out of nothing, the mirror reinforced I was soaked through.
I’d slipped and fallen in.

I didn’t splash?
A SPLASH: it sounds far too good for how this felt. A splash is clean and pleasant looking.
I smashed!
A SMASH: it may look good, but it sounds horrible.

***

I am very wet and all I can think about is your mouth and I keep listening to the song you lip-synced two lines of in front of me.

Have I fully realised the significance of the mouth? Well, let’s not kid ourselves, your mouth. Yours isn’t like what I imagine Mrs Darlings to be, a hue soft and graceful hovering over her face.
Yours doesn't need to glow, you know it’s there and words curl out of it beautifully. They are words free to move because they are shaped with purpose.

Your mouth. I want it.

The movement, your lips are shifting my sensibility. Just like the day when my brother’s voice broke. Everything is a lower register, a thicker consistency, a longer beat.