summer

The bitumen boils in the summer. The insomniac streets are home to all bodies; they sleep not during this season. 

We were dressed in sheer clothing, our skin touching as we walked. Our lips were red, cracked from the dry heat, our hair golden from the sun. Our smiles were so bright and warm with the daylight. We always looked the most forward to the afternoon rain in the summer; it was as though the day's steam danced up into the clouds and magically turned into thick drops or rain. They began to fall from the sky, and the rest of them packed up and left, but we stayed, finally alone. That airless, musty smell filled our noses as the rain simmered on the hot street. Our browned skin became visible through our wet clothing, and you pulled me to your body and kissed me. We peeled off our clothing and ran into the empty sea, the grey sky grumbling above us.

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I deeply apologise for my absence. My only excuse is that uni has made me think academically, not so much imaginatively or creatively. Today, I'm doing both. I will start doing both more often. Thank you for your lovely comments, I'm in the process of catching up on your delightful blogs now. Much love, x




photo by coolhandluke