cloud illusions I recall
We were at the “moons and Junes” phase where we danced, stared into each other’s eyes, and our heat coalesced.
Flags raised: you unable to see me on weekends. I was so enamored I let it go, but Mama didn’t raise a stupid girl.
I nudged for something more. Then there she was. The platinum blonde braless in a tank top with smudged eyeliner sitting on your deck, black coffee in her mug. She dragged on a cigarette, eyed me, and smirked. I was fifteen years younger and not built for confrontation.
No ice cream castles in the air. I changed.