Rattle

Heat roars across the avenues in a last desperate attempt at exerting power but it is futile: everyone has seen the forecast. We sit in union square park and giggle at the last round of sunscreen sand masks along our arms and ears, revel in that particular kind of tired you feel on a humid summer day, secure in the knowledge that the sun will not leave even when the seasons move on. It is the last day before laundry but I am unfazed; everything south of 14th street I own and you can't touch this, it is invincible. A poetry publication landed in my mailbox this morning and I long for the word like a lover; it sings in me as it approaches.

Count down hours, minutes until my eyes will rest only on you.