It’s that feeling of when
you’re in an air conditioned car,
the windows painted shut with melting might,
and the cool is turned all the way up that your hair
billows

and your ears ring from the speed of the
gratification
and as you sigh, you look out past the dusted, groaning dashboard
and past the clanking rosary
hanging off the rear view mirror

to see not even ten feet away from you, an uncensored love affair
between the heat of the sun, so desperately trying to grasp what
can’t be held,

and the asphalt trying to wave the efforts goodbye

but it returns anyway to tease,
to undulate, to show its affection to the heat
because they know their fates: they intertwine like oil and water,
forever and never.