It’s the heat, it reeks of his smell
reminds me of the place under his collar
and edges of his long sleeves.
How the air was too thick for sleeping
how I was constantly intoxicated
with the hum of his voice.
I lay in the green sun reading
his books, breathing his fingerprints
heart beats between text replies
The blue sky kissed my shoulders
and thighs, grass ceilings always
bracing my body from ascension.
How I existed in the space
before you with me and without was
sleepwalking and summer drunk.
The heat hung like a red cloud
on my back and on my heels.
Here, the earth comes back
to this place around the sun
to break my sobriety
again and again.
Originally published in Lummox II: Place Anthology