Naked on Cashmere

She was all freckles and magic, this girl that lived next door, pebbles on her window, and she was suddenly there, she took my hand, as the moon pinched at our skin and my heart beat fast as her warmth swallowed me up. It was back through the garden and the hole in the fence, along the path I’d made as a boy — knights in our stories — a thousand times I’d run this trail but not with her. On we ran into the silver-spotted black, quick-moving feet along the picket-patched-paths of moon-light, sprinkling and sparkling along the mossy floor. Her face was everything that young love should be, and it swallowed me with every look. The stars were alive for us and we shared them as only young love could. We ran through moving vines, into a painted silver meadow, where we sailed through the tall milky grass, like a wooden boat, through a silver sea. And there we found our castle, an old stone house, where a moss covered chimney stood alone to spill the secrets of its life. So on that sweeping grass we laid, and spilled