Summer Cut

The sun hangs low, a golden sigh,
As dusk rolls in across the sky.
We’re side by side in evening’s hum,
The mower growls, the constant drum.

You push the line with steady grace,
Sweat like diamonds on your face.
That tank top clings in all the right ways—
I pause my task, caught in a daze.

Your hips, the sway, the strength, the fire—
Even in work, you spark desire.
Each pass you make, each blade you bend,
Turns labor into sweet pretend.

I watch from far, heart in a race,
Wanting more than just this space.
Your body glows in fading light—
You, the heat, this perfect night.

We finish slow, the yard laid bare,
Your fingers pulling loose your hair.
You glance at me with that old spark—
And just like that, I lose the dark.

The hose runs cold, but the shower waits—
Steam will rise, as passion wakes.
Hands will find familiar skin,
And what we start out here, begins within.

The grass is done, the stars climb high—
But darling, it’s your moan, not the sky,
That I’ll replay when day is through—
You, the night, and all we do.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved