It was unusually warm for the time of year, the leaves that were hanging onto the trees made the dappled sunlight create such wonderful patterns on the grass beneath the canopy.
I wanted to climb under your skin. I wanted to peel it back, tear you open, bare your innerself before me, making you open and vulnerable.
I can never remember the grass being as green and lush as it had been on that September afternoon. The summer heat had failed to drain it of its colour.
I don't think I've ever had a more tender kiss. Your lips were full and soft, they were filled with so many sentiments, filled with desire, with affection, with love.
When I leant down to meet you with my own, every single one of those things passed from your lips to my own, without a single word being spoken, without a single noise being made. A gentle tender kiss, yet filled with so much more. Our tongues exploring, playing, teasing each other. I can close my eyes and feel your lips against my own, reflecting upon the wonderful moment of poignancy, of attentivness, but certainly one without worries or solicitude.
The years pass.
Memories are filtered a million times and more, but I can still describe that kiss, that moment, just as I did back then.
It was tender. It was perfect.