When he first discovered his dentures in the garden, he put them in a glass of cut flowers, watched them sprout water lilies between the teeth. Each flower frightened his wife like a snake asleep in her clay pot. When he smiled, his gums were pale roses pressed for years against the fishbowl of her dreams. It was always that way between them, the soft bites underwater, the kisses that leave a taste for decades in their mouths.