It was so humid.
Heavy air hot on your skin, lust
boiling your sweat, clear tiny
beads rolling from your upper lip
down your long, thin neck,
between your breasts,
across your tummy. Your
blouse was soaking, dark
shadows appeared, under your
arms and at your crotch...the
smell of you was on the clouds.
Then a light breeze turned
cool, cooler, cold. Goose bumps
erupted on your arms and legs.
The sky shifted from
blue to gray to sullen
black. The breeze became a gust.
The gust, a furious wind. The
wind a storm blowing away
your heat. The rains came, and
washed away your scent.
You shivered, shuddered
drowning in despair, sinking
beneath the rising floods.
Then a morning sun rose over
the Southern hills, burning
the mist, drying the soil.
Oak leaves turned toward
the light. An ancient elm bent
backwards to feel the heat
against its gnarled limbs.
A bright orange tiger lily
opened herself to the warm
new day, and a scarlet crested
cardinal pecked along the roots
beneath your window while you
yawned, stretched and hugged
your pillow, reluctant to rise
and begin again.