In An Upstairs Bar In June

The rain does not come, but hangs in the dark sky.

I feel the humidity — sticky, suffocating.

Everything is blanketed.

Below the open window, softly splashed by streetlights,

The sidewalks, streets, and buildings are washed in dull yellow.

Inside, the fans twist the heat.

And across the room I see her, beads of sweat holding

Fast to her glistening forehead. She brushes back a

Long dirty blond strand of hair.

Like a euphoric whisper, always ephemeral

But feeling eternal, her bosom beckons to me

– Like g-d’s grace, but damnable.

Her long, smooth legs stretch through my mind, shimmering like a

Constellation high above the midnight reflection

In my celestial river.

Barely covered and brimming with power, her tight round

Ass pulls me like gravity, quickly through, eroding

Banks in a subdued deluge.

Like the Missouri in June I push through and expand,

Swelling discreetly until I burst over my banks

To wash clean her fallow fields.