July’s spell wrote itself nut brown
on her sweat-kissed back.
They said sometime after noon.
Fondling the warm iron gatepost,
her thick, hungry thighs arrived
He stumbled out, pale and squinting,
open palm arched over his head,
itching for a shower.
“Hey, loverboy, remember me?”
For a man released early for good time,
he was about to be very very bad.
Shay is today’s host of The Sunday Muse.