By Carrie Hunter Copyright ©2026 Your skin was the first dawn I ever dared to touch— warm as the hush before cicadas sing, gold spilling over the edges of June. We met where the air tasted of ripe peaches and salt, and your laughter opened like a hibiscus at noon— reckless, red, drinking the sun without shame. I traced the curve of your shoulder as if it were a stem leading me deeper into bloom; the wind tangled your hair like wild vines, and I breathed in the green of you, t