the heat of august

 

buttercream clouds
melt into a raspberry sky
as the dew of morning
holds fast 
confirming a humid afternoon mow

thoughts go
the heat of august will soon be lost
in the felling
of clover sweeten, sickled low

but it is a sighing,
mine
that stirs the memory
of your smile
against the graining of wood laid straight
that met up with the shutting
of a morning's door

I let mix
my mind with the movement
of the suns shadow
pushing past to close
all shutters draping the westend
walls, knowing
there is still much a defining, a pruning, a setting
of things right prior
to the dusking
of a summers day

yet, the I in me drifts,
floats towards the pulling of hours fast
and I find myself pacing
the vintage faced keeper, find my hands
pondering the powdering
of my breasts, one than two
a cubed cooling - cleansing of my throat

as I lift my hair higher
from the backside of my warm neck, then
in slowed release, it falls
only
to cascade
the sky's haze stretched long in silhouette -
a screenplay longer
cast now in the dusted denim
that carries you back
across the wooden floor of our morning
straight back -

into the fielding
of my soft, my fertile
need - to cool the heat of august
with the scent of sweat, sweeten
by the
felling of clover

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shot Wednesday