lilacs and moonbeams
I turned the corner only to smack into a wall of memory. The scent of lilac drifted up and danced with the one or two beams falling from the crescent moon; it reminded me of you. Of that night. You know the one I’m talking about…
It was too early in the year to be skinny dipping but there we were on the riverbank. I know you saw my skin goosebump and my nipples stand on end. Your eyes glinted in the same silver moonbeams that are peaking out tonight. Did you see me blush almost violently in response? I don’t think so.
Wouldn’t you have asked why?
And if you asked why, I would have told you. I'd never watched a man undress before. I'd never watched someone bend and flex as they peeled a shirt over shoulders. I'd never seen someone’s hands at their belt buckle, nor heard the seriously sexy sound of leather on metal when a man pulls his belt free.
There have been many belts since but I vividly remember the sound of yours. Every bit as much as I remember the way cool water enveloped my skin until your warm self enveloped my skin. Only one or two ripples across that glasslike pool announced you. That is until you kissed me. Then something else entirely announced you. All of you.
There have been many kisses since but yours is still seared onto my lips. They remember of their own volition and compare and contrast each new pursed pair to yours. I breathe in sometimes when I kiss a new man and I like to think I smell you, surrounded by river water, night sky and lilac. I’m not ashamed to admit I think of you then.
Nor now for that matter. I think of that sandy riverbank and the inky blackness of the water. I think of your belt. I think of your lips. I think of the way lilac and moonbeams danced for me and against my flesh. I think of those things and sigh…