the fan chops the turgid air
as the moon settles lower in the sky
and we lie as far from each other as we can
with just our fingertips touching
love on a muggy heat driven night
is a matter of thought as opposed to action,

we are beyond languid and are now puddles
of tired humanity, just waiting for the tipping hour
when the temperature drops enough to sleep

til then we commune with the darkness and wait