Slow Heat

It’s a slow heat. The kind that pushes you into the earth. A warmth that takes you back decades where summer was endless and each day became a week, where you played until your eyes fell shut, heavy and full of wonder.

A heat that makes languid limbs, stretched like swaying branches. Strawberry lips, blackberry kisses and water that washes over you. Soft and deliberate like a lover’s touch.

Enveloping your pores, cooling hot thighs, toes digging in the sand. Sweat drips thick like honey. 

Irresponsible heat that makes you forget what day it is. That forces you to play like a child. The kind of heat that reignites attraction, that brings bodies together, sunkissed skin, sticky and sweet.

A heat that oppresses you, calling you out of walls, climbing in windows, whispering to you in the night…come play, come dance and melt and drip with me…and you obey. Your body saunters. Hot flow. You are a servant of summer.

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