When the summer heat swells in, we'll undress each other and lie naked on the hardwood floor of our kitchen.  That's a promise.  Fans will hum around us, a chorus of shhhh's and cicadas, and I'll draw lines with the pools of sweat on your skin-- from your temples to your toes and back up again.  We'll bake in the cool color of the air, needing no release, but panting on the floor like tired dogs.

I'll sing you a song.  You'll adore me.  We'll turn over.