Summertime

Sunday night,

after dinner, and impromptu dancing,

my hand strayed over the zipper

at the back of her yellow summer dress.

Her eyes fixed on me

as I gingerly drew it down.

She pressed close to me when

my hand slid onto the small of her back;

her skin as smooth as butter,

and perilous as whisky.

She laid a tender smile on my cheek,

whispering ‘Now kiss me.’