The house of summer

Beth slept on the veranda.
A book had fallen off her lap.
The ancestral summer house,
surrounded her in deepest quiet.
Her brother John, tanned from a
summer of swimming, entered in
still dripping from the river.
There was only the insect hum
and the fan stirring balmy air,
only the smell of the trees and
perfume scent on the slight breeze,
only her long raven hair and
shadows steeping in the heat.
He observed the rise of her breasts,
the shake of her parted lips,
the play of dreams on her eyelids.
He felt endless in this place.
She was the river and forest.
She was eternal summer.
They were the stone walls of the house.
They were timbers in its frame.
Their universe was here and now.
Waking as his penis touched,
she took him in her waters and
bathed him in obsession’s fire.
After, there was only the moon
rising in the viscous air.