August

Let's set the latitude to swelter

where the heat

may define us

After all, I've never been

your frozen angel

In the full of heat of summer,

I'll caress that Rose of Sharon,

white faced and rosy-cheeked

it's beauty fully mocked now

with the green thread of the leaves going limp

withering in the stagnant heat

I won't call foul

even with the decimation of squash

the brittle stalks

brushing against my fingers

Instead, I will meet

the cinnamon-headed girl

for tea on the porch

speaking freely

of such scorching things

As the blaze of summer

surrounds us

on a hot August day