Ganymede By Zane Yinger The boy would come each day, and each day he would sit beside me. His fingers skittered over rocks and combed through sand like blue crawdads. His eyes glittered. He crouched as a frog might; his morning sun smile framed by the gold hills of his knees. Curious glittering eyes gazing over me. Soaking in my flowing curves and lazy bends. Sometimes skipping his fingers on my skin. He watched me like no one had before. So I danced for him....
