144/365: Low Breeze

Onion

We sit in the grey rain light,
the milky late-day
filtering through dust motes,
washing the windowsill out
to the colour of a dull barn.

I am struck with the memory of that summer
when she lay on top of my bed,
all naked goosebumped skin and soft hair
to beat the heat
under the breeze
from my low window.
It is as though she were there
every afternoon.
I am sure of that now,
although it may have happened only once,
or possibly twice.
Sometimes that's all it takes
when it comes to naked girls lounging
with nothing to do.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com