White Cotton Dress
A sign of summer, to be sure. Crisp, bleached white cotton, a little stiff, oversized, so she can sit curled up inside of it; it becomes a little tent to shelter her from the twilight and my desirous eyes. Still, just the whiteness of it causes me to remain transfixed, the dark skin of her hands and feet making its iridescence even more impossible to believe. A slight rustling as she turns to speak, and the enchantment which is her voice emanates softly from that alabaster shroud, making me a believer in the gospel of her. The sky darkens, the rest of the party heads indoors, but there is nothing on our little patio to fear. The air is still warm, the breeze is just strong enough to keep the bugs away, and as the vision in white continues speaking, the angels sing.