At the foot of the garden in the dead of night, she slips out unnoticed through the catflap and strips off her clothes standing beneath a crescent moon that whispers to her of its magic in a thousand different ways. Shaking her hips and jigging her arms around in excitement, she lowers herself onto her belly and slithers like a snake upon the wet leaves beneath the trees that hitch up their branches for her like a dress, and when she passes through, nature takes her back into its womb. As she slips and slides into the darkness drunkenly chattering her teeth, the animals move alongside her, and when they reach out their paws and beaks, their tiny animal hearts see inside her mind, and what they see is a woman made of so many memories tasting of so many things yet never of what she’s been searching for more than anything. Kicking her legs, she claws her way through the rabbit hole. Seconds become years, and years become vague ideas not real at all but like the images of a movie played out in a weary mind seven sheets to the lingering breeze. The past is gone, and yet the scars remain. Like ink on skin, they colour her with love and they colour her with shame. They flower the way a dead star flowers beneath the watchful eye of God, and what God sees is what God wants. His own invention with a mind of its own, flirting with sin and greedy for the pleasures that stir within. Puffing out her cheeks, she wiggles her fingers and toes, and as the eyes of the animals widen at the sight of what comes next, she hisses her tongue and bites the inside of her mouth as somewhere ahead a voice calls to her promising the taste of that one true kiss. Kicking her legs, she swims like a dolphin, so perfect and shiny and at one with all things.