S A R A H  R O B E R T S

Considering the gallery on a laptop she looked at the walls and the line drawn windows.

In looking they crumbled in between her fingers, yielding

and she thought of them all in a line and all made of the same kind of flesh

Comparisons with walls outside were made but it was tricky

by the time you've peeled the one back you forgot the last 

you remembered it instead

Less fleshy.

 

So she rummaged through her archive of surfaces, looking for a best fit.

Something for the ladies...no by the ladies... something.

 

Being in Southampton and all she thought of boats

and that play, 'A Taste of Honey' she read in school

that was set somewhere near the sea. 

Forget some transcendent tasting of honey,

It reminded her of bedsits with wallpapers

out of date and all papery 

not so much the rubbish sex

more those skins peeling off and smoothing on top of each other. Delicious.

 

In Margate she recollected she had collected 'nudes' 

Pinks and bare flesh tone plasters with navels and lips protruding and sucked in

It was all she could bear to think of.

 

Dragging an imaginary finger through the peachy dust and over flattened contours, she poured herself another babyCham and emailed the gallery for dimensions.