She was hot laying beside me…the way you feel when you crawl into an attic. Or touch an iron. She filled my day with fumes and dreams, she smelled like ginger. She breathed warm scented breath on my ear, the whoosh of an afternoon thunder.
She was a Kodak photograph, the kind where it would buzz out of a slot in the camera and you would wave it dry to expose. She made you wait for her. It was worth each agonizing but knowing moment.
She was like the glaze of suntan oil, the scent of surfer wax, glistening in pearlescent shine, the fine hairs of an arm. You wanted to rub the shiny parts in, even them out.
She was the double-stick popsicle, daring you to evenly break her apart. Melting upon you in sweet stickiness, dripping down and cooling your hands, covered in the smears and cherry-taste in an afternoon.
She was the scorched flower, left beside an unopened window side. A reminder of beauty, even when gone.
She was sidewalk chalk, leaving silly messages…hearts and arrows, stick figure kisses, a code known only by us…to us.
She was a lone cloud across the sun, darkening briefly, wondering at the eclipse.
She was shaved ice, covered in colors, with the odd little wooden spoon as her weapon, daring you to eat quickly before she melted.
She was a bikini drying on a single line strung across the backyard.
She was a clutch of fireflies, high in trees, slowly drifting down to the grass like tumbling stars.
She was the taste of a push-up pop, a sweet tart. Her kiss was candy.
She let me play with her hair, side by side on a blanket. Beneath a pink sky that mirrored her cheeks.
She was heat lightning. White lightning. Thunderstorms and squalls.
She could be the mosquito bite at times…the no-see-um.
She could be the bee in the grass.
She was a sand dollar, seen through the water but disappearing in the tide.
She was the sound of the screen closing. The sound of sprinklers turning on.
She was the kick-off of covers in an evening…to be pulled up later in the dawn.
She kissed me every morning with a slight humidity, perhaps hair still dripping with rain from an evening before.
She lasted too long to be any sort of firework except the sparkler, which lit easily and burst quickly and allowed you to hold in your hand such innocent but menacing beauty.
She was the chirp of the evening. The late darkness in daylight savings.
Mostly, she was a reminder. That she was elusive. Temporary. Inconsistent. Mercurial. So goddamned mercurial.
Only to find me the next day waking with her beside me to start it all over again.
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