(not) air conditioned

The real world is not air conditioned.
Instead we feel each other’s heat
as we tread our paths
Round assymetrical topology
And un-curated history
All moments irreversibly, to now.
Perhaps we sit, traveling in patient
stillness towards a time we trust
comes soon. The noon hour peaking
Hot and loud in this beating heart
of brick and flesh and energy;
There are so many heres to be:
For I am here
And yet with you
And even, too, where you will go
Amid the youthful din
While evening deepens and the shadows
O’er you stretch. Come here,
Dear one, and we will sit and sweat as
Churning worlds spin humid and untamed
around us.

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