Ginger lily

That summer you went away to the beach with your family,

I tried to remember the last time we had been separated

And came up wanting.

I marked the days in thick black sharpie

On the wall of my basement bedroom.

The ink bled through all the layers of bare drywall

Documenting my desolation.

I spent all the sunny days there,

Rotting in a cannabis haze,

Sleeping through reruns of crude cartoons

Because every small screen romance

Made me die for you.

I turned purple and green,

Imagining all the horrible things you were probably enjoying--

A body builder at the beach

Who spoke rudimentary English to your tits;

A rich boy with a new car and a professional haircut.

You would fall in love and never come home

. . . Or worse:

You would fall in love and come home to tell me all about it.

Just when I resigned myself

To the sludge of life without you.

There you were!

It was another all-day nap on the kind of August afternoon

That shouldn’t be wasted.

I felt your hair first, as you crawled in bed beside me.

Bouncy ringlets chasséing across my cheek

Tricking me into opening my eyes.

The tapers of your soft fingers snaked up my shirt

to tickle my ribs

and steal my breath,

Tapping a tattoo on my skin that might have been a "Blink 182" song.

You chided me:

“Let some light in here, you fucking vampire.”

But the light was there

Even with a heavy old serape covering the only window,

The bright sunshine of the Okanagan

came home

with your amber eyes.

I reached under the coverlet to arrest your rebellious hand.

My hands--euphoric to be home,

Continued their exploration . . .

Up your arm, down the side of your body,

Finding your denim clad hips

I shifted your weight,

until you were straddling me.

You prattled on,

Told me in detail:

The food, to die for;

The resort, so elegant;

The beach, so trendy.

You giggled at your own jokes.

The girly chime of your laugh

Climbed into my mouth

And down my throat.

It nested in my chest cavity

Where I vowed with my life to keep it safe.

I was mesmerized by the way your freckles had multiplied

And by how your usually ivory skin

Was just as delicate in crimson . . .

A burn that I was sure you would call a tan.

I pulled you into me,

Burying my face into the crook of your Botticelli neck,

Inhaling ginger lily, & sunshine, & hope.

I could still taste the beach on your skin,

And then I knew . . .

You came to me without bothering to unpack.

I grieved through the season for nothing.