every little thing
still more changes

Her Indian Summer, mark v, unfinished

Oppressive heat drifted on oceanic waves
so thick you could see it
sparkling languor
filtered by sultry sunlight

He applied and wore it
like a finely woven suit
or a glamour he’d cast
luring me closer, drawing me in

The steam from his pores clouded my vision
blindly I followed his lead
coaxed by the scent of fervid nectar
and a mouth that tasted sweet like sin