A Hot Evening in August

Dew drops sit atop the grass.
Waiting for the clouds to pass.
Evaporating Into to the air.
As I recline in my chair.

Vines hang heavy with their fruit.
Waiting to be robbed of their loot.
Languorously I observe the passing of the day.
An avenue of trees in full leaf as they sway.

Sipping leisuely from a frosted glass.
Wishing this moment would never pass.
Reflecting on the fleeting quality of time.
As I sit and sip my wine.
Your furtive glances even now.
The unbidden but welcome raising of a brow.

Gently as the day flows on.
Dew drops replaced by a searing sun.
The song of the Cicada becomes a deafening hum.
The passing river charts it's inevitable course.
Ever onwards no remorse.

A Gallic Rooster proudly mounted on the entrance gate.
His owners presence he patiently awaits.
As the birds all take flight.
The evening softly welcoming the night.

A cool breeze gently caresses my skin.
Silken sheets to wrap myself in.
Drifting slowly into a restful slumber.
Did I ever get that guys number.

© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw