Warm nights. There seems no comfort except to stand in front of an open window, an open door. Let what cool consume you into a stance that allows you to think, dwell in the possibility of a temperate summer night. Even when unsleep plagues us and tomorrow is another inescapable work day. This is for the nauseous, the unhappy, all those enduring temperatures soaring above our thresholds. The words of a hungry poet, not quite a salve from this climate, but hoping the thought of love is enough to distract from the heat.

the words tonight like
the sparse night sky
(only crickets crick)
sporadic stars and
sparing cool breeze
enough to stimulate
these subtle fragrances
that simulate your
scent from that
shirt, that pillow
where I long to
sleep, imagine these
words here under
this celestial canopy of
our evening, our night

-mr gahon 7/9/13


About mr gahon

poet... writer... culinarian... i like to work with food that appeals to the senses, write words that taste even better View all posts by mr gahon

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