Flaming skies
change to evening,
hot and heavy and damp.
Lazily yielding as sunlight dies,
Waking is the same as dreaming
to a genie in her lamp.
Dripping in faux humanity
her exalted demon
was queen.
Yet, in her nudity,
she is but a woman,
not a fiend,
and subject to fluidity.
Warm, wet, shadows
and the sound of a busy city
wander through open windows,
greeted with enmity.
At first shiver, and first kiss,
between the strong jaws of a fearsome bite,
gently wither into first bliss
soaking comfortably in silver twilight
on Monday night.
