Secrets

There are a dozen tiny indentations in my back, on my left shoulder where I leaned into the dry grass to kiss you. The moon was nowhere to be seen that night, and soft blue-gray clouds were drifting in upon a lazy breeze that kicked up the dead leaves all around us. I am caught in the mad spiral of a dulcet daydream: the memory of the night, the touch of your hand, the smile in your eyes and the soft sighs of the dead hanging in the air. Burrs and clutches of dried vines caught in our hair and we shook them out like veils of stars, laughing. Submerged, suspended; now we wait.