D.S. & Durga, Boston Ivy
September. Summer is ending but their clothes and skin sill smell of sea salt and sweat. Although they’ve only just met they share the wanton abandon of just-past August. The urgency that comes with the ending of any season combined with the nervy anticipation of a new one. Their escape is thrilling and she clutches her own mouth to keep their secret. Just beyond the hedges their classmates sit in tidy rows, their every breath antique wood and musty book pages. But it’s still warm enough to keep the windows open, and every once and a while they let their own thoughts tumble back to soft grass and skinny-dipping.