"Not like that!
Like this."
She turned over her shoulder to face me, snatched her hair, soft and strawberry blonde out of my hands and giggled as she tried to show me the French braid.
She saw my blank expression and buried her face in my neck and giggled some more.
"This isn't going to work."
She gave up on the braid and kissed me anyways,
She tasted like sweet tea,
mixed with somethin' southern and strong.
She said "thanks love".
Her porch was lit up like it was the hearth of her home
and we had stopped slapping at the mosquitoes hours ago.
with my head in her lap, I was getting the grass burs out of her skirt when my fingers crept up her thigh and picked at something polyester, it smelt like lavender.
She put her hand on top of mine and kissed me again. I watched the dimples form on her cheeks as she whispered "daddy'll be up soon."
Laying by the river, when everything is silver, and silent, just for a moment before
the sun rises, we held our breathes
and then the love birds wept
and rattled their cages.
My memory fades as she got up to go but she said something like
you're still dizzy from that southern sting
or
you're still dizzy from that southern swing
and that she was hungry
and that we were hollow.
and I just laughed anyways; I could never get her father's truck to start but my heart was always in the right place, she knew it.
*She had a way with words,
she had a way with wasted...
she had heaven on her ankles with her jeans rolled up, and I just wanted to linger there.
My first prayer, my first gray hair.