It’s so steamy it can’t be real
The sun has gone down but the air still shimmers like the surface of the ocean

The swollen full moon
is hazed over
As heavy as my breasts
You have to move through the thick street like a velvet curtain rustling
To remind the air that it moves

It’s an unholy strange sensation
Like wool sprouted on your face and hands
In a thicket of nettles 
Breathing water

It would be quite pleasant to be naked in a lake on a night like this
Lying on a rock
The still air it’s own roaring bonfire
Skin glowing
In the syrupy orange moon.