Siesta

The air is hefty with heat,
Weighted like blankets that 
Give comfort and shelter in
Colder times, the hot air 
Is distracting but holds 
Everyone's attention, it is
The subject of conversation 
And honored in chit-chats
If I were younger, I would
Notice how languid, and how
Sensual the weight of it was
How the humidity resonated
In every pore, reverberated
Making ripples appear as if
Pressed to my skin, waving 
In the air. I am no longer
Young and the stifling heat
Is no longer reminiscent of 
Long quiet afternoons in the
Cool of sheets, when we are 
Shuttered inside, a breeze
Blowing the curtains back 
Into a pale off-white window
Frame. We are sheltered in
A darkened room, engrossed
In each other, oblivious to
All else, although we feel 
Heat cover us, waving above,
The ceiling fan, noisy and
Intent on moving the heated
Air slowly around our bodies
It is early summer and our
Siesta is mandated at this
Time of day, this afternoon
Hour, it is a reprieve from
The sun's primal insistent
Rays, the heat delivering 
A break from our occupations
Heat heavy with anticipation