There’s a particular mouth, a kind of mouth, that certain men I know possess. It’s not a sensual one, not the thick lower lip or the wide easy smile, the soft tongue, or fierce white teeth, or the smell of nicotine. It’s really just a sort of pucker, a tightness, yes, a bit like that. But really it’s about the set of the jaw, the control behind the setting of the jaw, a muscle contraction, a well-managed temper, the second before the jaw is set, the moment before the mouth draws tight, lips together, eyes burning with irritation, usually ice blue, where you can see the impatience briefly flash and then be harnessed, again. They are intelligent. They burn. It’s unintentional. It’s not for my benefit. It simply is, and I see it and I burn when I do, or my chest fills with inhale.