Until August Comes

I’ll drift on sunset’s tangerine rays,
a cerebral sailboat on a serene sail
while bathed in the honeyed hue spell
until my skin is bronze and tight
and my mind is full of endless sun.

With my hair bleached by the brilliant noons
shall I live on sandy shores for its rule,
gone from the listless lairs in labor
were time stops ticking
as the day stretches so long before the eyes.

Then I’ll save my stories of daystar worshipping
for the hasty visit unto a tanning salon
in hopes of hiding the truth
of how I spent July as a couch potato.