85Mm, f/1.8, thin depth of field, camera behind her left hip, slightly below waist…

85Mm, f/1.8, thin depth of field, camera behind her left hip, slightly below waist height. The room is almost unreadable: a doorway slit at the far end, cold daylight pushed through it in one blade, and between the blade and the lens, incense smoke thick enough to hold shape. Everything else is black with a green cast. No fill light. No second source.

They stand. He is behind her, both of them naked, one arm across her chest, the other hand flat on her throat, not squeezing, just ownership; she is arched back against him, one hand reaching behind to grip his hip, the other arm up and behind his neck. The blade of light traces only what it touches: the rim of her breast, the line of her jaw, the top edge of her shoulder, the wet shine on her collarbone. Her body is mostly a silhouette, and that is the point — the shape reads before the detail does.

Her face is turned three-quarters toward the lens, half of it lit, one eye visible and open. Mouth open, no sound. Between her legs, the light dies; only one thin line of wetness catches it, running from her cunt down the inside of her thigh, and his fingers are there, glistening, indistinct, half-swallowed by the shadow. Grain is coarse, the halation on the light blade is dirty. Colour: bottle green, sodium yellow, black.

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