Poem from the Vault: Melting Evaporati

Melting Evaporati

Although I simmer

with waiting to be near

your body, unclothed and glowing

in the sweltering summer,

touching anything now

is like smothering, and

as unbearable

as flies that bite in itching

slow motion.

It does no good

to scratch

when my skin

prickles

with a film of sweat

and the air is too heavy

to breathe deeply or quickly.

When our skins come together,

there is a sticky slapping, instead

of melting.

So I will thrill myself

by looking

through the open door

to see

the swooning bliss of you,

asleep

in the sun.

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