Six coiled fists on the sill.
I left the window open. The breeze chafed my skin to dust and stung the
lemons til they dried. Birds flapped unnerved between Spanish moss.
Entire mornings we once spent in the grass. The ground dug our bare backs while the sun
narrowed your face unflatteringly. The silence after heat pulsed
came between us, twisted your soft glow into a grimace.
Each time I remember you, I pucker.
About the Creator
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.