Hot Stuff
D Dónall Dempsey
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So, hot:
even the stones sweat
& the road
unpeels
it self
as if it were having
second thoughts
about being a road
in the first place.
It clings to our footsteps
reluctant to let it go.
I hold your hand
in mine
droplets of sweat dribble
down your arm into my palm.
Kisses sliding off
our lips
refusing to stick.
“Sh*! ...it’s hot... is it not? ”
“Yeah, sure is...sure is! ”
Us
in total
accord
but hot
too hot.
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