vitriol1

Tessa's pale visage and platinum hair are still burned into my mind a decade after a night in her presence. The moon, high and full in the July night sky revealed the botanical gardens in hues of azure and navy. We sat beneath a willow in the center of a grassy field and looked into each other's eyes. We discussed a thousand trivial things, we held hands and we smiled at one another often.

In the humidity of the evening our cotton clothing had softened. Her sundress and my tunic were pliable and hung off of our moist skin, a size larger than the clothing we had put on the morning before. Her hair smelt of sweat and lavender. Her pert breasts, soft belly and hard hips pressed into my own slim frame imparting such intimate knowledge of her anatomy that echoes of her touch are still with me. As our bodies separated, our arms and chests clung together like ever so slightly moistened lips.

I love Tessa for that evening, and I have never loved anyone more perfectly than her.