rooms cerulean

our sheet top fevered dream, epiphany
of fragrances; the frangipani blooms
in white of salt on sundried skin; the sea
floors glassy ceilings hung on unwalled rooms

cerulean - a sky afire that twists
the sticky tar beneath our blistered feet.
late afternoon, the wind that daylong lists
turns southerly, dark clouds conceal the sweet

relief of rain that silences the drone
of shrill cicadas. pregnant drops then bring  
quick ends to reveries - we drift alone
into the softlit linen evening.
  
but all this celebration is struck dumb
by chill austere formality to come.