Summer

I found new mosquito coils that are made of sandalwood and citronella and clay, and they are perfuming my summer. Richly sweet, rising in ghostly swirls above their tins as I laze about and look out at the lights of the city beyond. Drifting on breezes and lilting softly. Undulations of scent.

My hands feel roughened and worked, my nails ragged at present. I want to dig them in superfine sand until they are baby soft and I have sandcastles to show for my work. Then run them over warm, sun glazed skin and draw circles in oil.

The concavity of my belly is rounding softly aga. Happiness making me hungry. The earthiness of preparing food is sensuous in summer. I like the way that the scents of the indecent fruit intermingle and the juices spill out over hands. I love the way that each golden drop of Summer fruit tastes of the sun, and warms from within.

I started wearing my perfume again today. The golden bottle brought back out from the depths of my vanity to again perfume the warmer days. I sprayed the air before cautiously walking into the mist, and the olfactory memory punched deep and low, and reminded me of Summer and heat. And I smiled when I caught the trace of it, with a swish of my hair. Let the heat and oil from my body mix with the golden scent to remake Summer again.