With a flash, a crack, you threaten my life.
I defy your hunger, sit on the side porch swinging
on this metal glider—a parched August afternoon.
You gush in, wipe sweat beads from my forehead,
blow around my ankles, pull wet hair from my shoulders,
open my shirt with your breath.
I drop my head back, inhale your promises, listen
as your rain pelts every oak and maple tree that lines
the street to my house. Ever near to me you draw,
then blow on by like some lover’s afterthought.