Sam Knot | Lamb's Head Soup

 

11.

The raindrops on the windowpane are on the move today, or at least some among them are. The general tendency is downward, in conformance with tendencies in general. Isn’t it sweet how gravity has just the lightest touch? I shouldn’t be too surprised to see her roll one up as an expression of her delight. I’m sure I could handle such a delicate glitch, in a sense it has already been explained away, which is perhaps to say we have given permission for it to happen: it’s okay, darling, if you need to be a freak — we’re all a little improbable! I guess it would seem like when a satellite drifting across the night sky makes the stars move, except your little contravention would make my whole world

— stop —

& start flowing in reverse. Your little going against the supposedly spatial grain would send me sliding backwards in time limbs flailing in my fathomless void fixed to the spot until you begin to curve near the top, seeming to pause as you come through the double glazing & down towards my left eye, disappearing into the duct there

another tear I’ll never cry.

Hide your face, my little peach — | a vague embarrassment in the east
Hide your face, my little peach — | a vague embarrassment in the east