More summer poems to read in the hammock (on your iPad!)
They rise upon you, flood
you in the neighborhood of sleep
where once-solid canyons of breasts,
hips, knees, parched from breath, west of age,
have slipped, begun to crack.
It’s not that there’s a lack of cool
breezes or even air
conditioning; matter of fact,
it’s like you booked a room
in an ice hotel, framed yourself
an igloo. Still you melt,
puddle, a tongue so svelte, velvet
before fusing to steel,
teaching you reversal,
how to tread betrayal, ride luck
before lightning strikes, bringing rains.
Check out the rest of our poetry, free, on Cleaver’s website.