Midsummer chill is a call-back.
Struck cold, the bodies congregate in the breeze,
not quite believing the sting of frost
unaccustomed to the weight of clothes, they wait.
when I saw you I was cold
I touched my absent calluses
your beard was rough and my skin brushed red
The trek up the cliff smelled of ash -
the blacked trunks paved the way through the clay
and a moments silence sang of little deaths,
little burnt wings and tails.
you bought a litre of water and gave it to me
but after two swallows I was freezing
you finished the whole thing
In the changeling hour, the domestic rabbit waits
for the world to stop moving, nystagmic eyes wide.
Hearing into the next world, it wonders where
the wailing winds come from, and where they'll go next.
we had met in winter and, frozen in place
didn't see the thaw until it was too late
your eyes were still ice, beckoning
The peak was idyllic green and brook blue.
Winds and sea forgotten they jumped into the pool
shaking the mud away and summoning the summer storms
they prayed for a quick forgiving end.
in a state of half dreaming little death
5.05 AM woke us and clothed us
bugs waved from the shower floors as they drowned
The flatlands had called the unknowing away from sin
only some were left behind in beds of expectation,
of sweat and love
of breath and lust
a taxi found you fast
but your arms found me faster
I was warm the whole way back
of the latter part of summer.