Summer, Starving

Tyler Sherman

Summer, Starving

It's summer wherever I am,
and I'm hot and sweating
from it.

Salt melts when it's that humid;
into a queer syrup in the bucket
in the basement.

As you love me, I'll drink it.
Sticky spiteful, with constituent
additions of

non-sustaining elements and
I'll accept them through the
quenching hot

with wet—however concrete
saline, body wrongly.