Spanish Key

Still nights like this
sit so close to us,
the moon hanging
low and a distant
buildup of clouds
flash us with steady heat
lightning. Your hand
rests on my chest
and sweat beads
above your brow-
your lips purse
without your consent
just before you laugh
lightly at the dog,
wandering around
the porch acting funny
as she really is and can't
help but be; your head
is cocked to the left,
listening for a semblance
of the forecast between
static on the a.m. and we're
talking about what sounds
best for breakfast come
morning. This is the closest
sense of truth we
can breathe in
while the summer comes
to a close. I am finally
happy where I sit. I
can feel the chill of autumn
coming for us any day.