I always felt that summer
was something to be endured.
The entire season felt
like the hop-skip of bare feet
on blistering concrete, waiting 
to jump into the cooling depths of the pool.
I met you in the height of it,
in the hottest stretch of weeks,
when the temperature made
the city bend and twist
into wavy lines that curled
up from the pavement. 
You had pretty eyes, a prettier smile.
But what I remember the most
is how sitting next to you felt
like the first cool morning in September,
when the breeze became a caress 
on my sunburnt shoulders and
the days stretched out before me
into small pockets of shade.
And when you said my name,
I could hear with it the promise
this season is about to change.