We’re released by ourselves into the water supply. Globe-trotters. Kissers, both cheeks. Up toward the heights curls come back. Bells in heaven. My eyebrow arched and I gasped.

In physiologist years this is a star-quake, falling and liberated by the carpentry in reading sensory input as the doctor’s tongue worked in circles. Then he darted straight in. I realized tension was flying from my face, dull and throbbing.