Delphine is having a Mani-Pedi

Delphine is in cashmere, soft and plain as flour.
The woman next to her is growing out her colour.
Her hair looks dusted with icing sugar. She is luscious
and plump like marshmallow; part edible baby,
part nosy neighbour. To bite her and watch her teethmarks fade.

* * *

Have you chosen your colour?

* * *

Earlier, she sat in the jacuzzi and tried to loosen
baby, your ring finger is a driveway I want to
park my car on from her head. Fear is a scoop
of ice cream swallowed whole.

* * *

She wants to overflow the sink of her mouth.
There are birds in her throat, opening their beaks.
She mentally drowns the birds. Her toes flex back and forth.

* * *

Delphine is unsure whether she would like
the masseuse to find her attractive. She rails
against the massage room music temporarily,
as though disbelieving an anaesthetic would work.

* * *

That colour is so you; Delphine is very particular
about her boredoms.

* * *

Delphine takes a walk in the grounds, which display
plants chosen for their therapeutic qualities.
The sea breeze is at work on her hair,
a particular kink. Indoors, orchids gather dust.

* * *

The fidget of other people’s thoughts is too loud.
Delphine thrusts her hands into her robe in a way
that might be deemed sexual. Would someone watching
feel queasy? she thought. Like watching a man buckle
his belt as he leaves the bathroom. Like watching
a man watching a woman.

* * *

Delphine heads to the shoreline, says to herself
‘give up your nerves to the sea’. Says this aloud
in a Sit Back Down-tone, as though addressed
to a child.