Kissing Gate, Arran

Kissing gate, I found you alone and walked towards the skies by myself. Waterfalls fell below kestrels. Ferries were tiny islands in the sound. There were meadow pipits and falcons in the summit clouds. Tossed oatcakes brought ravens. They tumbled superfluously. On the silent heights everything slipped into the chasms and my strides were mountain flowers filled with greasy, happy frogs.

The water through the glen was a silver tie on a hotel floor some two hundred miles south, on a morning after a night before when they ran out of Guinness. And on that morning we woke together naked, the sweat dried on us and I wandered swinging to the windows, opened the curtains and marvelled at your breasts in the sunlight.

Neil Campbell is from Manchester. He has two collections of short stories, Broken Doll and Pictures From Hopper, published by Salt, and two poetry collections, Birds and Bugsworth Diary, published by The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, who have also published his short fiction chapbook, Ekphrasis. Recent stories have appeared in Unthology 6, The Stockholm Review of Literature and Best British Short Stories 2015. A collection of flash fiction, Fog Lane, is forthcoming from Gumbo Press, and his first novel, Sky Hooks, was published by Salt in 2016. His Twitter: @neilcambers.

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