June stretched her arms above her brown hair. That kind of
one arm bent at the elbow, the other arm hoisting it halfheartedly stretch that
she did to find inspiration in her own exhausted beauty. Before her across the
quaint bistro table sprawled a dozen wild flowers she had hoped to arrange
charmingly in a glass vase before the sun set over her modest balcony. Peter
emerged from the widening crack of the sliding glass door; his fingers
outstretched reaching for June’s creased collar. He swept the hair from her
neck with three faint fingers and her neck craned backward in submission. The
sun between palm leaves danced across her eyelids now, letting them shine a new
shade of green Peter compared to a California lilac. He draped his lips across
the jagged hair on her forehead and kissed her plainly. He had longed mostly
for this insignificant moment. For a day where he could arrive coolly and plainly
kiss her.