She Tasted Like

She was softer than the spring air in between the fingers of the stars which would glisten and tremble whenever she gazed upon them and sighed. Imperfect to be sure, she carries the bruised burden of addictions and loss, has stolen and broken and quickened her fair share of hearts. But as she reveals herself to me over drinks at the local bar, I see the silken shimmers of mischievous curiosity in her almond eyes. She has seen so much but it’s never enough, the kind of girl who takes it all in hungrily and gives it all up freely. As a kid she would stay out too late because the smell of the grass on a summer evening was so sweet it split her clean in two. A string of party lights has washed the smooth skin of her tight body in multicolored hues, hair swinging down to her tiny waist, she is a carnival of casual desire. Chatting easily about intimate things, she and I brush our fingers together knowing the sensation runs much deeper than flesh. Her boyfriend arrives and joins in on our third round, gin and cigarettes around. Noticing our flirty attraction pleases and intrigues him, he does not ignore it but also does not intervene. As the night wears on the place gets rowdy, a tangled mess of spilled lagers, bad karaoke, and fist fights for no reason. Making our way out of the chaotic scene we enter the cool summer night and walk to my car at the dark corner of the makeshift parking lot behind an old crumbling church. The front doors of the deteriorating house of worship are two massive slabs of heavy wood, now chipped and rotting, still a few small candles appear to be glowing inside. For a brief moment I am touched by the mysterious charm of worn down things. Heels stabbing through the crunch of gravel and earth, there is the linking of hands and locking of eyes as we say goodbye, and this was fun, and then there are her delicate fingers skimming along the soft curve of my bare hip and then there are her gin ripened lips on my neck as the world spins and the craving in my body lights with electricity as it responds to hers. With one hand in her hair and one on the pulse of her slender throat, I take her tongue into my mouth, tasting her fully for the first time. She is wilderness, a dark liquid pool exposed in the moonlight. The boyfriend leans on the back of my car, crossing his legs stretched out in front of him. Lights up a cigarette, and watches us close.