Writing Spaces

I could tell by her mouth that the woman was a dolphin.

Even at rest, her generous lips curved into a natural smile and folded to a tiny downward tuck at each corner.

“Swimming!”, she shouted, when I asked her favourite pastime.

“Fish?”, I offered, hoisting a mackerel from my bucket.

In one bite she snagged it, almost taking my fingers too. Then she kissed me on the nose and leapt away.