I don't know if I was simply too weary to be witty, scathing or sardonic that day.
Instead, I was lucky enough to hear that name, it made me feel light-hearted. June...I felt like she could be my friend. I thought we would talk about books and life and lovers, poetry and politics.
The color of her gown was vibrant and liquid; juicy like overripe thai fruit. I could felt the gossamer folds running like water between her thighs; cool and silky on her fevered skin.
The ocean breeze caressed her, whispering accross her skin and coaxing the aroma of jonquils and baking bread from her hair. It carried the faint, delicious promise of summer rain.
I was wondering if it was the sun that had warmed her, or a lovers touch. I wonder if it was the exhaustion of ardor that tranquilized her or just the limpid peace of a perfect night.
I was brimming with contemporary disquiet, loaded with cares and concerns that June would find bewildering.
I longed for her contenment and langour. Sometimes I think if it was the beauty of a lie that made a bubble of stillness, and when it burst, the tang of salt on my lips tasted an effervescent dream...
I could stole her serenity for just a moment. It was that thought that cheered me.
I found solace in her.