He felt that Summer was her true season, a least when she could show her skin, mix in some colors and allow her tan lines to show where something else had touched her...seared into her and left its mark.
Sun drenched.
They had met in a winter, covered in clothes and layers and she had allowed only a very tiny, slow unveiling as the days barely got warmer...a glacial pace of revealings...mostly thoughts, some paragraphs of words...utterances...and definitely not skin.
But they both loved the beach...and this intersection of places allowed him to imagine...and he set his mind on becoming a bit of sand in her shoe, a slight irritant but present and lingering...and hoping it might turn into a pearl vs. something causing her to stop, take off her sandals and shake them until he tumbled back to earth.
In the warmth of the cumulus of the sea salt air, the strands of her hair found new life and directions...forming lovely contrails that surrounded her face and danced and moved like tides...
and she remained mystery-like as he began to know her, like the shimmering air above a highway baked in the sun...what shape, what structure...hurtling towards a spot in the road and upon arrival there is only the colors of the...road.
There are longer hours in a summer day...the slow spoil into an evening...the way the world devolves into a color that is closer to the color of her eyes. The sounds of cicadas buzz-sawing into the night air...a random firefly...a splinter of a moon.
And there are storms and dust-ups that randomly occur...but for them, it wasn't ever cataclysmic....rather it was smoldering...maybe thunder in a distance but not in any danger...
He remembered a time when the strap of her bathing suit slid off of her shoulder...she had turned slightly and it fell off and slid down past a freckle...and in his mind he counted time...waiting for her to restore it back into place...but she didn't move...it lingered, like as if somebody had suddenly said a word that hung in the air and waited for a response...and so it stayed there like a tease and he was begging for it to slip even further. Years further in the future the comfort with which she easily removed her top was a sharp contrast to that first summer...
And the water...the waves...the foam in the green. The taste of the ocean was a narcotic of the season...warm, salty...it was a kiss in a wide-opened mouth...and he entered it again and again, plunging his head beneath the waters...the sudden quiet after the noise of the surf...
He entered into her ocean occasionally...and it was as hot as the asphalt outside of a 7-11 in the height of July...
At times, he would reach down and actually touch the parking lot and it would burn slightly and he would be reminded of her.
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