And when at last
the breeze comes
on the breath of night,
the whole body sings
with the chill of it—
craves the cool lick
of sharp tongues
on the skin, the bite
of the distant storm.
Touch me here,
says my flesh,
as if I’ve been waiting
all day for my lover—
here, touch me here.
And it feels so good
when the wind slips in
and does what a breeze will do,
but the wanting—
I notice how it, too,
has something
painfully beautiful
to teach me.
Trommer, Rosemerry Watohlah. “These Hot Days.” A Hundred Falling Veils, 27 July 2023. https://ahundredfallingveils.com/2023/07/27/these-hot-days/