Summer of '81

picture credit: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Lips-17017373

She lay in the dark, waiting for the house to fall silent

before sneaking out her window, down the road

to the grand old double storey.  Listening to the whispering pine trees

that surround the house, her bare feet pad across the wooden porch

to the very last window at the end.

She stopped, looking at the window she knew would be open,

at the softly billowing curtains waving her in and to the bed beyond,

glowing white in the silver full moon.

She slipped through the window towards the motionless figure watching her,

his chest bare, legs tangled in sheets, and he said “I knew you would come...”.

His eyes slowly trawled her body, a shockwave of desire rushing over her skin

that licked the new-found awareness of her senses into an driving need

that drew him to her and while the stars passed overhead, they left the night behind.

Then the turning stars in the sky left them with the falling leaves

of these endless summer nights that they lived with abandon

in the light of the moon and the whispering trees,

who’s needles remain forever, in the dying yellowing surround.