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Making
Friends
With Money Workshop
Monday 9/15 & 9/22
Issue
Ten: Free Write
Scintillations
The Beach
Remembering
You
Julie Day
Current Events
Sex And The Country
Stirring Up The Dust
Letter to My Younger Self
More
Letters To
Younger Selves
Moody Girl
Photography
Cover:
Box of Skeletons
Hello
Pipe
Hive
Clouds
Pegasus
In Ireland
Subway
Guy
Poetry
Spring
A
Lesson In Wholeness
A
Child's Light
The
House That He Built
Summer
Night
Contributors
Readers'
Comments
Websites
We Like
Workshops
Play With Your Words
Making
Friends With Money
Future Issues
Issue Eleven: Play
Issue Twelve: Synchronicity
Summer
Night
Meegan Foley
The
evening ended
with Destiny turning her back on me,
The front door closed behind her
and I watched in silence
as the tip of her blond ponytail
was swallowed by the darkness.
As I stood alone,
the porch went dark,
leaving me
to make sense of the shadows
the night had cast.
Two hours ago,
I had clicked the clasp of her pearls into place.
Before my hands could retreat,
warm silk, the color of honey,
fell in strands
caressing my senses
in silent appreciation.
The night had held the sweet scent
of promise.
I studied her curves,
memorizing each dimple and dip.
I caught secret glimpses,
and I could see
where she needed to be loved
when the lights went out.
I imagined us,
a mixture of limbs and innocence
on her canopy bed.
and when she said, "take me,"
I had assumed it was in my arms,
not home to her parents.
Now I stand alone on her porch.
My finger traces the progression of the night
in the grain of wood I lean against,
it spirals, then delves
into a dark knot.
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