At the edges of his land, the nylon curtains come down like sheets of rain.

Your eyes are the colour of wet sand,”

soon as he’d won her, he paid her little or no attention. Most of the time he was gone.

she felt springs coming up like mortal sins through the mattress.

His sweat was heavy and sweet.

He smelled strange, like pears that are near rotten.

He led her across the floorboards same as a cat’s tongue moves along a saucer of cream.

He doesn’t know how to eat and be hospitable at the same time.

So much of her life has revolved around things that never happened.