the humidity
     has eroded
     my wardrobe


     and glued my bare thighs
     to
     my chair

     and
     when i stretch, my
     breasts move with me,

     slick with
     summer sweat

     freed of their
     boiling hot
     brassiere cage



     i am
     wiggling into shorts
     only when i dribble downstairs
     for a drink

     i am
     leaving nothing to the imagination
     of those who look in my windows


     i am
     spending time
     curling my toes
     around thoughts of

     your tongue,
     trying to pick them up
     and fit them neatly
     between my
     yoga-opened hips

     mumbling inarticulacies
     to my pillow
     between long drags of chilled fruit juice

     smoking
     less
     but steaming more




     and even
     occasionally
     summoning up enough energy
     to wash my hair