Davina

Beloved, drink with me this light-drenched memory: the dark blur of a watercolor forest at the field's far end, where edges of swollen husks hardened under withering, tea-stained petals and whispered of colder days to come; the gentle brush of pale grass against your neck, holding your slender throat and shoulders close in ancient arms of dust and clay; a twilight that seemed to stretch forever, sun-streaks repainting the sky a hundred times-- each hour, another wine-soaked layer. a creaking swing, a bench for both of us, warm wind like honey in my mouth; we slept, and oh, the cicadas' laughing carried us till morning.