Like the Last Day of June

Before you know it, it will be high summer
With blue shooting stars
At your fingertips
The air will smell pungent
Like wild mustard seeds

And it will be hot, hot enough
To stain your blouse with sweat

And you will feel warm and tingly all over
A hay fever of your femininity
There won’t be much to say
Not when we’re naked
On the last day of the jazz festival

There will be fireworks in another part of town
But in your bedroom, zippers will

Unzip, water against water
Skin to skin, before you know it
Evening will touch the last day of June
And you will whimper, and you will swoon
And I’ll be the one, stripping you
Your panties moist with excitement.

Building Up Summer Afternoon

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.