After the Interim

She met him in the interim, that space between endings and beginnings; a summer fling; a sowing of her not so wild oats was all that it was meant to be. But he was so much more. She found herself languishing pool side on his patio as long June afternoons dripped like molasses into nights. Sometime in July, her illusion that she’d had of independence burst like pyrotechnics in the sky. And oh, those nights they imbibed! Her nights with him ran like the blood-red wine in the goblets cupped by the trembling hands of two inebriates. But the stems of those goblets slipped quickly from their fingers, and love’s elixir spilled much too quickly into tomorrow. Along with the dry protracted days, she - like desert grasses - withered as she waited. always thirsting for the nights! But by the time August had arrived, she also had come to realize that, like the yellowed grasses, she needed more than passion at dusk. The nights, in fact, had brought her no less scorching than the sun. And what she’d thought was more than she could want became much less than he could ever give. Some essential thing was lacking, some need deep inside her not being fulfilled. In those long afternoons as she'd waited for him, she'd come to realize what was missing. By September - back in school - she knew her ardor for him had barely waned, yet still. . . she knew what she had to do. And so, she looked to autumn's advent for October's cooling winds to sweep away the remnants of ashes in her soul. 2/26/2015 For Laura Loo's Free Verse on Sadness (again) Poetry Contest