Headwaters

I woke to apricot skies with cornflower edges- his arm pitched across the bare plain of my stomach. Somewhere between the inky fringe of moonlit hours and the feeding of a dawn wildfire, shadows like Lichtenberg scars in wood grain had feathered across the sheets.

I can’t remember why I stopped looking him in the eye when speaking his name but I do know there’s still shockwaves of thunder when his hand cups my jaw. Dust devils and lusty tempests, the way our bodies meet each other in the dark, a hailstorm crashing against the peripheral of a cyclone.

We are static and storm over murky water, reed grass in the wind and whispered promise.


 

©️ Pearl Bayou 2018

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