Hot Stuff Poem by Dónall Dempsey

So, hot:
even the stones sweat

& the road
unpeels

it self

as if it were having
second thoughts

about being a road
in the first place.

It clings to our footsteps
reluctant to let it go.

I hold your hand
in mine

droplets of sweat dribble
down your arm into my palm.

Kisses sliding off
our lips

refusing to stick.

“Sh*! ...it’s hot... is it not? ”

“Yeah, sure is...sure is! ”

Us
in total
accord

but hot
too hot.