When the August sun burns hot,
my love for you comes to thought.
Free of clothes in this heat,
our dance of love is so sweet.
Our dance of love burns eternal,
our dance of love becomes inferno,
in the August heat.
And when the nighttime comes around,
the beat picks up to the sound.
The heat surrounds us like a glove,
as we dance to the beat of love.
As if in a hypnotic trance,
our senses heighten to the dance,
In the August heat.
The moon and stars dance the night,
to their rhythm we hold tight.
When the ecstasy of desire,
overcomes, we retire.
To in the morning awake,
emerge, and feel the sun bake.
In the August heat.
© 2009 Craig Wickersham
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Copyright 2010 © Ronald W. Hull
8/28/10