Dating : Midnights in July

I stood on my porch that evening in July
with my back against the faded wooden siding.
I watched the world come to a standstill;
the trees immobile, the cicadas silent,
none of the late afternoon laughter of children,
just the wail of a whippoorwill, the shimmer of heat waves
rising from the cracked street and the sinking of the red quivering sun.
He always kept me waiting. Just as the sun set every night,
I would be there waiting, watching for him to come up from the dense woods.
I could stay in the same place for hours staring straight ahead
until the clouds tinged pink and the sun came back again, rising in the sky.
He didn’t always come, only when the moon was high enough,
or when the wind blew strong enough, or when the grass stood still enough.
You could never truly predict when, I think he wanted it to be like that.
But tonight, he did come. The trees stood still like silent sentinels
watching over the deserted road and the moon had risen,
swollen and orange in the black sky.
He seemed to rise with it, coming up from the hot earth.
He glowed, brighter than the dusky moon,
more than the few fireflies that flickered along the dark road.
He leaned towards me and I breathed in, inhaling that misty, late night scent that always seemed to surround him.
He smelled of summer, of midnights in July,
the breeze in the oak trees, spiderwebs dusted with dew.
He smelled like thunder, like lightning, like emotions,
like feather touches in the dark. He smelled like home.
What are you thinking about?, he whispered.
Nothing, I murmured back.
But for me, nothing meant everything and anything.
Nothing meant today and tomorrow; yesterday,
the next decade and the eternity.
I took his hand and held it up to my face
traced the lines of his palm with my eyes and brought it up to my lips.
He had beautiful hands, strong hands that could cup moonlight
and carve stars out of stone.
Softly, gently, he moved towards me.
His face came into focus as it hovered in front of mine,
then light like a moth’s touch, he kissed me,
placing his lips gently on my own.
It always was like this, starting sweet and slow,
each night a new exploration, as if we had never touched before.
We were like dragonflies, barely skimming the surface of the pond,
too scared to touch but infinitely curious.
Part of me wanted us to burn until we became inseparable.
Until we became nothing but ash and bones, our two bodies mingling as one.
Then I said it, gentle as rain, quiet as night. I want you.
And the fire in us blazed, hands touching, fingers colliding, bodies moving.
In unison. I felt him in ways that I had never felt before,
I felt him with an ardor that I had never imagined,
boiling up from inside of me, consuming my being.
I held him there. Wanting him to consume me, wanting to engulf him.
I wanted us to melt, fuse, become one.
Waves rolled in me. A lightning flashed between us, a storm brewing between our bodies.
And the storm intensified, thunder coming from my mouth, humidity growing between our skin.
My hands grappling for purchase, his beautiful hands staying at a steady pace. Until, it rained. Hot drops pouring from within me, the smell of night and passion filling the space.
Our bodies curved the same, peaked and plateaued in the same places,
they flowed the same, young and inexperienced.
But where mine was gawky, his was strong,
where mine was protruding, his was smooth.
He was a river to my stream, a pond to my pool. An oasis to my desert.
He pulled me closer to him and whispered one word in my ear,
so softly, that I nearly missed it.
Love. And so, we burned.