Summer Poem by Michael Ardizzone

The sky is congested
with the light of the myriad
stars crowding into the pinpricks
of pupils-nothings within nothings.

The summer is a slow drip
down the back of my throat
the steady rhythm of a leaky faucet
echoing endlessly, perhaps playfully
changing form. Leaving
the calcium and manganese around the
drain at the base of my skull, accreted
memories of restless nights in the humid
accommodations of desire.

The feeling of another's heartbeat;
another's breath fogs the black
glassy surface of the night sky as
the moon slides down. Clouds are
whisps that will us to remember the whims
of past summers. Desire is a futile
weak and limited word to describe
how our lips touch or the way we
press our bodies together in
a desperation that fools may
call love but we'd call the only
breath that life can fully breathe.