The heat rises. It’s nothing like spring storms.
Nothing stirs. Whose fur hangs dank? Who drowses
and sleeps half the day away? Heat deforms,
corrupts us. The sweat in my pubes itches.
I scratch and scratch until tufts come away:
soggy cum, soggy spit and tight black curls.
You sprawl nearby me. The way your thighs splay
makes me blush though our naked boy’s and girl’s
secrets mean little in this heat. We pass
a spliff back and forth. We drain our whiskey
and pour out more. Cicadas drone. The glass
in your hand sweats. Everything is raspy.
Tonight we’ll go out in the summer storm
with heat-lightning, the air bathwater warm.