August
the air is so still
our laughter is almost visible,
illuminating the soft pattern of dappled sunlight
through maple trees
we slip into the water
wearing nothing but August heat,
eyelashes wet and arms flailing as you try
to pull me under.
the water line hits at my collar bone
my skin drips summer and lemonade kisses
the sky breathes autumn promises
and liquid goodbyes.
-MWE
24 December 2001
