old boyfriends

I have a history of succumbing to summer evenings.

Something in the heat and stillness conjures
Out of the ambient night
Brilliance, communion and desire

Spaces are deeper in July; more vast.

The Philosopher
The Poet
The Player

Time and predilection separates them in space
Only the still, hot buoyancy of a summer night
Unites them in my mind
In the folds of flesh where memory lives

Only the clumsy buttons
The damp grass at our backs
The conviction with all certainty
That I could not live without this

But I did.
We all do.

Their departure survived
By this warm bake of an evening
Air like an oven
After dinner’s been served

Their welcome weight is with me still