Summer Musk
There’s something about this time of year
That gives a sense of edge in the air
Everything is heated yet recoiled
Like a snake in an outhouse
That has been waiting to shed its skin
There’s no sign that it’s been there
Just the leftover skin
And smell remains aloof
Laying low in the corner somewhere
Waiting…..
for just the right time to strike
Like most snakes
When strikin’ seems appealing
You’ll never see it coming
Swift…. smooth… suave
Snakes just being snakes.