when can we leave the sting of ice on the air
and go back to a lion July,
a roar of hot stars and fireworks
Christmas has come and gone, the only warmth
falling from tree lights onto red noses
and we are left now with an autocracy of silent clouds
but I want you like greenery,
like weeds in my teeth and the sharp balloon pop
of your laugh on summer air
I want us laid out like lizards
mad and sweating and stretched over rocks
lake water long since evaporated off our skin
I want you sweltering, I want
a burn of a kiss or nothing at all
