Summer night ringing twirls the funnel of a month of subtle light on the game........ The body explodes—the evening touches the passionate beauty with the ardor of her lips........ You melt in the mouth with a sweet, sweet cherry, only ripened in your mouth........ A black net snake submissively thin, coiled tight— sleeps on the floor........ With crumpled bumps and lumps of cloth, the path lies scattered with dots toward the sea of love........ Until the day the unexpected messenger arrives early and near, the desired one calls out louder........
# Summer Night The night descends like a weary traveller, settling into the cushioned dark, while the world turns its face away from the dying sun. Heat still rises from the stones, a last breath before sleep— the pavement remembers the day's burning, exhales it slowly into the gathering blue. Somewhere, a child calls out, then falls silent. The cicadas begin their ancient song, that endless, hypnotic reel winding through the dark. Stars pierce the veil one by one, each a small certainty in this uncertain hour between day and dream. The air moves, barely— a whisper against skin, carrying the scent of jasmine, of grass cooling at last, of distance and longing. In the windows, lights bloom like flowers, pale and brief, and somewhere a door closes softly, someone turning inward, the world folding into itself. The night deepens. Even the crickets pause to listen to their own silence, and time becomes the slow turning of the earth, the patient dissolving of heat into shadow, the quiet arrival of what we cannot see but always know is coming.
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