Calvin breaths the haze
thinks about its engulfment.
What mask to wear
if all of the sudden the air waves clog.
Where will we all run for cover?
Four more days of sun
my arms begin to blister
a dark red rash.
Drench my skin with honey and salt
more like a salve then a train wreck.
To think about
touching in a heat wave
and skin falling off -
a dress unzipped, dropping
wrapped around my ankles.
Calvin and I sleep,
wait for the peace of an air planes breeze.
He's moving towards me
says he can't help being so close,
though his breath burns my skin.
I've misplaced the path,
lost my place in this apartment,
stumble on carpet.
I look for Calvin in the dark
guided by the map of his weather.
More months of swelter
and buildings melting into sand piles.
before the rain comes.
Calvin is a name I am speaking
when found, passed out on the kitchen floor.