As to my mouth, of all my features, I wish I could possess my mouth again, just as it had been before the fire. I had my mothers lips, generous below and above; and what kissing I had practiced, mainly on my hand or on a lonely pig, had convinced me that my lips would be the source of my good fortune. I would kiss with them, and lie with them, I would make victims and willing slaves of anyone my eyes desired, simply by talking a little, and following the talk with kisses, and the kisses with demands. And theyd melt into compliance, everyone of them, happy to perform the most demeaning acts as long as I was there to reward them with a long, tongue-tied kiss when they were done. But the fire didnt spare my lips; it took them too, erasing them utterly.

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Clive Barker, Mister B. Gone.

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