If it was the cool beginnings of winter that made his kisses visible in the dark night air,
she wondered why,
all flushed cheeks under the shelter of a bus stop in the middle of nowhere –
why summer was so often written as the time for lovers.
skin prickling, bubbling, upwards,
silence only breaking in the rustling of jackets and tongues warm beyond cold lips
…surely this was the season for lovers.
Perhaps it is that bigger hotels make you feel lonely because
doors that seal
and air conditioning to temperate
From a midnight bath with hotel room Pringles
The decadence is lost.
For I know no greater indulgence than baring all to a forest lake
…skin prickling upwards
hairs standing on end as upper thigh enters.
I know no other gargantuan like my moon
(she’s bigger than you)
And though the heat of my day may be untempered by the evening air
Burnt lips to the winking stars I croon