Quiet breath
like hornet's nests,
gargle and spit and chew
just like animals
encaged with cold steel

sleep, spinning and tumbling
like a dropped glass
which sheds it's load
onto a patio, dead
and unforgiving like lust,
speckled dust receives hydration
with gratification in this heat

before the receptacle,
now doomed on it's final course
impacts and shatters
spitting shards across the hard concrete

and tiny weeds tinged green
with rays of flaunting sunlight
which glance from twilight conservatories
amongst these parades of brick,
where the evening is sipped down
from cans chilled in the fridge,
and meat is cooked on flame;
it's good to have summer back again.