The Honey Witch

by Sydney J. Shields

I intend to run out to the meadow barefoot and soak up the blue moonlight. I intend to sing loudly, to dance freely, maybe even scream if I wish. I intend to ruin this dress with the mud and the rain. And if I don’t go now, then I will miss the brightest hour of the blue moon, which only happens once a year.

Their lips find each other, and they melt like harsh winter under a ruthless sun. This is love. This is the secret that everyone is searching for. This is the warmth in the bones, that sleepy-sweet feeling in the muscle. This is the moment between a dream and the morning, where such goodness feels so real but impossible to hold.