Cleared out

While the mornings are still cool

With promise

And shadows cast a long still presence

Summer flirts with me

the temptress whispers

Saturday markets,

Garden vegetables and berries

She says

Sleep in

Drink two cups

And write all day.

She beckons,

No work

Your holiday

We can play all day 

But, by mid June

I detest her.

her prostituted hours are stolen

With every day chores

And the catch up ones

Paint, trim, kids to practice,

Pushes so strongly

That a morning cup is even missed.

While the fire pit sits empty ashed,

Heat index too high for mellows, 

s'mores of gooey fun arent even discussed

A charred puff

Could only be a metaphor 

Of the afternoons

And garden witherings that droop

And drop off the vines sans fruit.

Summer sun

You temptress, you are lies.

You are all things hoped for and then

A falling too hard.

You clean me out,

Expose my beauty and then walk away while I'm still naked

And waiting 

You squelch my tender flowers

And  leave me 

praying for September.