LATE JULY

it's mid-afternoon
before the beaten down porch
catches enough of a breeze
to warrant company.

the honey locust clamor
from the heat and july
didn't take the time to be noticed.

i try suggesting a better spot
for the spider interested in real estate.
building condos in the only corner
flies don't vacation to, but the
translation gets lost between
the ashtray and sounds of children playing.

so the enjoyment of my july
is lemonade, the scent
of hibiscus groves from next door, and
the hope i'll fall in love
with something more than these
kinds of moments.

too few and far between
for anything less
than a brief affair.

a small, and fleeting taste
of each other's
eccentricities, like

chocolate flowers
on the finest of pastries,
melting full bloom in ones mouth,
as sweet as the finest summer day...

then gone.