Sultry summer nights, listening to crickets.
Scaled skin, sweat dried on the back of the neck and across the brow, a languid breeze drifting through the air.
In a prairie field we were beneath a mighty oak tree, car lights off, listening to a tinny radio and kissing explosively.
Such an idealistic love, smacked back into reality after the sunrise.
I miss him. I miss that place, now a parking lot for corporate middle-management denizens, patrolled with overeffective sodium lighting and an ineffective, pre-diabetic graveyard shift zombie.