Summer under my skin

I want to plunge into deepest intimacy. I want to wrap myself around the silky blade of grass as it creates the tiniest of slits and pushes itself through the earth towards the sun. It is everything, this place – the moment after I have closed my eyes and rubbed my hand over my neck - the moment when I lay my fingers onto the keyboard and just let fly. It’s happening now. You’re right here. And I’m your autumn woman, grown thick and juicy, piling on the experience but losing the frantic indecisiveness that I wore when I was the springtime girl, pale-skinned and desperate to please, to push life into everyone but myself.
I feel like there is summer under my skin – a deep, long season of apricot crops and the heady pulse of peaches. Hold a ripe peach in your palm and you will feel all of the power of the sun longing for the easy release you could give it with one moment of commitment from your fingers, your dam-buster knuckles creating gullies in the coy Lolita skin. There is nothing that that fresh flow of juice won’t help you to remember. Back when you were dragging stones across the desert and you were desperate for water, and all you could smell was the sweet tang of the oasis in your mind. How the jasmine flowers dipped their velvet tongues before you, limbs of climbing striptease petals like a waterfall that would never reach you. Remember your own parched tongue stretched out like an offering below them, and how you were never happier than for the promise of what might happen next.