Summer idle, I can feel it now
The enormous backdrop of expensive
Experience, the shrill stillness
Between suntanned now
And spectacular discovery
I want summer afternoons
That schools me outside
Searching for an anonymous evening
The jazz festival of bruised hearts
Summer idle and tempestuous
With roses of women past their youthful years
Erupting into cheeks and friendly kisses
With strangers, I shall never see again
And sweat that pours from an urgent sun
The views with red jumping borders
And skin, indulgent Augusts and Julies
All those mixed emotions
How the heat can make you weak
Where it counts.
Wuji Seshat 