The Sun is a Part-Time Lover

I do not regard you as a lover

but you stroke my eyelids like one lulling

me to sleep. I float under your cover

with a pool at my back, cool waves dulling

heat that grasps one thigh, and kisses along

my collarbone. Florida climate keeps

you bold, and July’s aquamarine song

hums in ripples around you. While it seeps

languid and hot into my skin, know I

like you once a year and no other time—

drunk at 11AM with all my

sense leaving as the temperature climbs.

Will you stay long enough to even out

my tan lines? Brevity’s what summer’s about.