If your reading this
it means I haven’t slept.
I chose to write instead.
I have a muse again,
and he whispers the sweetest nothings in my ear
lays the softest touch across my flesh
holds me tight in the deepest sleep
and clings to me in the light of morning.
And in my own bed,
the memory of his tenderness is a phantom experience.
As if he stamped me with only the voracity of his energy
and its heat lingered and kept me warm at a time when I sought shade from summer.
3 weeks less summer.
3 weeks left hotter.
I wait til the end of this 3-week stint to release the steam,
and welcome the heat with the wetting.