And summer comes like a one-night-stand-in-sleep-in,
Blinking at the windows, pouring hot spills on warm skin,
Leaning on the doorframe with come-hither eyes.
I throw a tantrum in the middle of the floor,
Tearing up sheets and books and other objects of fury.
You do nothing but sprawl on the bed looking at summer
As if nothing is happening, as if you cannot hear.