Sky pours a pitcher of pink lemonade through a crack in my window—she’s very surreptitious. She crawls up behind me and eases her cool hands into the groves of my back, pushing me, pulling me. And with a golden gleam of entitlement in her eyes, she brushes her hand along each and every item in my bedroom; her presence is uninvited and yet I want nothing more than to hold her forever when I see her approaching. She never makes herself vulnerable enough to allow smiling, but she cannot conceal her thoughts painted red by a blush in her cheeks.She stays in town but a few short moments, and is never heard. She fires a bomb each time she visits.
August 18, 2010