Middle of the Night

the drone of summer bugs,
millions of them; a chant, a mantra
of small tremors shivering the warm air

in the middle of the night
it hangs heavy    
from the eaves above the windows

my head throbs with visions of you
as I toss and turn
in my naked half-awareness

dampness circles my neck,
it runs down the valley
between my breasts

sweat pearls on the gentle slope
where my backbone ends
at foothills and tan lines

air hissing from the flutter of
powdered wings, eyes within eyes
survey multiple moonscapes

a stillness descends, a displacement
a hush of breath
cools the nectar on my fingers

distracting me just long enough
to halt the rise of my fever,
to tilt an odd angle into sleep