It is a warm and sultry night
  and while the sun no longer burns,
    in the shadows of things the memory of sweat
  still slumbers.

The city flashes by
  unheeding the humid moon,
     winsomely
       adrift
      above
  the palms,
underlit with
  neon pinks and
     hyper,
       fluorescent
        white.

In a breath, a pressure of
   palms, a glimpse of
      secrets
I remember that I love you.
  With each sequin glint,
with each zephyr-born confluence
  of cologne and sex
I remember that I love you.
  With each chariot-rumble passage
  of metallic steeds seeking
         steely burgeoning
I remember that I love you
with breath
   and sweat
     and warm, lingering
                   kisses.

August 2001