The Sexiness in the Heat of Summer. {poetry}
These days come fast and hot
The humidity clutches at my insides, fills up my lungs
I have to remind myself to breathe most days… deeply
The stop-and-look-up-at-the-sky-notice-the-grass-beneath-you-take-note-of- the-flower-and-the-dragonfly-and-the-new-wrinkles-in-your-father’s-face deeply
I have to tear my eyes away from screens
Unless they are the window kind — collecting dew or the summer rain in their tiny little squares
I run my fingers across them like a Spanish güiro
There is a longing in this heat to dance
To run my hands over my hips and spin wildly in the street — a salsa
To get closer to each other
Close like I am kneading bread — pushing holes into focaccia, filling them up with salt water
I want to taste the salt on your lip
I want to catch the sweat that drips between my breasts like I am young and still searching the dark for lightning bugs — running and halting after each flicker and fade out
I want the heat aflame beneath my cheeks like a revolution
How breathing is hard here but the rapid inhale sounds like… victory
How the scorched earth slides into a cool mosquito breeze like the exhale after climax — the release
After holding in all the tension
The moon and its foggy haze a jaundiced glow
A stable direction, like how you know the way home without them… instinct
The swell of this season a sea in my bottomless belly thrashing boats to shipwreck
But I have battened down my hatches in this storm
And after every bellow of thunder and lightning streak, the green tinge in the sky looks like acrylic cans poured down from the heavens
Most days I wake reaching back towards dreaming, how I crave everything the world told me I couldn’t have
How every morning it is just within my grasp, blurred along the edges
If I could only stay here a little longer, tug the line a little harder
I would catch that monster
These days are a tug of war
Muscles heaving beneath their skin
To run
Like roots uplifting through the tar — the congealing ink we pour again and again and it steams in the sun like our boiling blood
They say the Italian girls have hot blood
Oh, how we rage
Our little bodies a violent ray of heat, we love like we burn… blistering
Tomato skins peeling away on the vine
Bursting delicious in the mouth
These days are a delicacy I want to move my tongue around — how it explores sensation… savoring
Would that I could savor your sweet-bitter mouth, your salt-tang and acidic teeth
That you would smile and lie back in the sun
These days I turn my face up and stare directly
Into the sun.