Moonlight

The day we married,
the air was bathwater warm.
We finished our vows in the
first spitting seconds of a summer
downpour. The kind of rain that
bubbles over like laughter,
guffaws of water the
clouds could no longer contain.

Unclasping my dress that night,
beads of joy-tossed lavender clung
to my moon washed skin,
fell out of the piñata of my hair.
I have never felt lovelier,
more like a romantic heroine.

Now on nights where I feel
too far from that girl in bloom
I seek the solace of porcelain.
I light fireflies of candles,
steep my limbs in lavender oil, and
let the moon soaked air fill the room.

When I crawl into our bed with damp skin,
you murmur “hello lovely” into my hair,
I feel the summer breath in my ear,
and just like that we’re announced anew.

Shannon Curtin