Summer’s not so brazen now.

Now that the sunrise is sluggish

Enough to catch and the air cool

Enough to kick a body into that

Old panic. For cover. For surety.

My bones creak like dormant

Floorboards with the memory of

Stoning themselves against past

Cold snaps. My skin blisters in the

Absence of your touch – your warmth

An aloe or chamomile. Give me your

Heavy arms around my middle, your

Head nested in the hollow below my

Ribs. Toss my heart in the fire as the

Cold keens at the windows – I’ve got

My own September in you.