i -sO. s

She looked at the mirror. the S slid 
its little black number down her spin
the O sighed at the sight of her lines
walking a step or two in his direction . . .

turned her high heels to the L of a 
different addiction: I blew a kiss in 
the gathering up of T between silk 

of unbuttoned blouses. It was then U mouthed 
the unzipping languid anticipation of D to this 
interior of all he may have -  every dream to 

the un — Earth of Her
he looked up
. . .  -  was all he could read 
of her little black number

on the glare of his mobile pages.

---

First published in NEW NORTH 2016

Photographer David Kanigan