summer nights

sallow sunken skin washed over like
an old apple
you could make pies out of you.
you could make cider.
blades of grass that itched my leg
and the smell of sweet summer
flowers, they never smell as sweet
as you, and the mosquitos always
find it.

bold laughter and arms
dewy with summer sweat
as the night cools off
we turn down the rythmic
fans- click click buzz
and another stale breeze
in that direction.

only a month ago at this time
it would have been dark
but now dusk only brings pale light
and the flutter of moths

whirring back and forth
between the trees
this seasons bees search and find you.