Skiffs plied the river
that traces the contours of Badger’s Island
a stone’s throw from the clapboard house
you called home.

We watched from your makeshift dock
as they darted in slow motion,
noisy water skeeters with
important errands to run.

Soon dusk crept in like a fog
to mute the russet hills,
the lights from across the river
awakening to dot the water’s edge.

The air cooled quickly
and you offered me whiskey
seductive refuge
tasting of peat and sea.

Breezes thinned the clouds,
baring the moon to hum silver and blue
across your watery eyes
as you leaned closer.

Underestimating your magic
you pressed up against me
reducing the skies
to the spark of your touch.

I followed you up the narrow staircase
landing at your bed
bodies cold and drunk
gracelessly spilling together.

We were too soon spent,
salt heavy on my lips,
musk spinning the room
as regret thickened my head.

Nature’s providence brought
a cold morning rain
snuffing the last dying embers
of love that ran out of time.