Monday, July 20, 2015

In Hot July

In hot July,
in very hot July,

in very very hot July
so hot it’s like the frying pot

in hell where sinning souls are broiled –
so brutal, moving through it, soiled with sweat

and tortured by a torpor so molasses-slow you almost
don’t regret someday you’ll die –

in that sort of July –
I still love having you nearby.


No comments: