Sweat covered bossom
Alight the curtain swept day
As you caress that which is
Deeply mine
We slow and stumble
As we fasten the pace of
Our desirous machines
A crow’s call interrupts our own
Cooing, in the pooling of
This wretched summer heat
The only cool is the waft of
Sandalwood
Evaporating, as quickly
as it came from an elsewhere,
centuries past.