small paula greenside How red the tip of her tongue licking salt from his palm --hot shot, he gives her some tequila, she dances. How changeable his pupils, how, how they shrink and dilate, shrink and dilate, degrees of blueness and black. She pulls down the sky, pirouettes in the tickling rain of fingers. How white his throat, her scream -- nails to nape, toes twitching. They lie: two hills of salt -- how small the refraction.