salt

A bead of sweat slid down my back as I pounded on the door.
The heat was excruciating causing hallucinations and sleep deprivation. I was dark, very dark, ebony and dewy. I liked summer for this reason; my skin seemed to thrive in the hot air. As much as I couldn’t stand it.

I pressed my palms against the cool glass of his window.
The prettiest of views. Where white surf hits the sand.
With endless greens, blues and froth.

He wanted to take a shower. He had spent all day on the shore. Shells cut at his feet, seaweed squished between his fingers. His hair grew lighter, bursts of blond. His skin red and gold.
I kissed his sun freckled lips, tasted of salt.

“Don’t shower.” I said. “I have to leave soon”

I sat on his old recliner. He, on his father’s wicker stool. His shorts still a little damp. I watched his chest rise and fall.

“Tell me a story.” He whispered reaching for me.

I laughed out loud. Perhaps too loud?
I had wanted to tell him a story. Once again I found the taste of salt on his skin and he kissed back.

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July 5, 2007. love, memory.

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