Bamboo blinds twist and thump, rattle like a bone drum.

My eyes open to an August or June or July sun punching bright and proud around a kiln hot breeze. Swiping my eyes, dust sparks fly. Palms perfumed with blue smoke and sweet ferment and oiled fruit.

I rewind her as bright and beautiful, playback my words in that color of dark that she likes to hear. Dry lips rumbling between her shoulder blades I mumble something soft and dangerous, just inside our vaguely drawn borders. A leather bound suggestion.

Her cool hand slipped across my nape I am again! absolutely! a prisoner of her love! This time True in my Vow to take Her to be my forever always wife, I do. Bound together by coarse cotton sheets, whisky knotted cords. We are perfect, now.

Every each new first morning sounds and smells this way, the same. Because her skin’s still the only cool, dry place where my heart beats slow. But don’t tell her yet. Wait until the sun passes west. We got days before light fades and she’s gone again.