Satiated, I knew it right away just to look at you.

But anticipating this, there is always room, isn’t there?’

The garden waits now, beans, carrots, lettuce, herbs. Run barefoot through the mud to pluck them from the ground, toss then into the sauce with such wonder, such pleasure, such hope of sharing this, that, your fingers so fine and so precise, your hair tossed back in the wind, clumped to your forehead in the sticky heat, dripping from the shower onto my skin, my skin released from its modesty now, unhooked, unzipped, yours, a taste. As you wish. No, in all honesty, as I wish.

At its most simple, the Saint-Honoré is a cake of cream puffs and cream, but it is magical, that combination of memories, the tender, the delectable, the faintly sweet but familiar. You watched me stir, then pipe it from the pastry bag, a puff, the cream, beat firm but not too stiff, too dry. Just right. Teeth through to that glorious full softness, you remember, love, don’t you?

I am here, half unbuttoned, perfumed, half drunk, katydids chirping, tree swing on a hill, the night, the moon. My feet touch the ground every so often, love, take a bite, make a wish, honor this, soar.

feu sans artifice

I walked back into the half-lit bedroom, the morning already swelling, fine linens wrinkled and damp from a night of quiet sweat. Yesterday I covered the windows with dark draperies, shield me from the heat, the invading sun.

It came, anyway, sweet irresistible summer, long longed for, in the ice barren hard ground, seems anything would be better than that bitter void, lone white world. It was, the ferns all green growing, thick, the Queen Anne’s lace, hard to tell the flowers from the weeds in this sort of place, hard to know until you see a real flower, a rose, a daisy.

Your skin still smolders, body inert so strange now so familiar in my bed, arms so powerful wilted now, fireworks forth, dreams took you, at last, I see.

The air is fresh outside, I know, breeze from the bathroom window cool in the early day, lawnmowers next door rousing me from my own slumber. But no, I barely slept.

It was not the heat, the hum, the long line of light streaming onto the floor from the edge of the window that awakened me, love. I waited for you, waited years, love, wait weeks now, habit of lust, your smile renewing my faith, for now.

You lie so still, no revelations, discreet charm disarmed me. Your arms, too strong not to let you, not to let you trace your lips down my face, my neck, my toes reaching to tease you, despite this, despite the suffocating heat, desire. Don’t. The thrill, the exhaustion of exertion, wanting. No, no, so much, too much, overwhelm me with green, groan. Oh I want this quiet so much, in the morning, you now, defenses gone, stripped bare, this kiss, tender, gentle, seeking, true.