Communion

They ask who wouldn’t like this weather.
Our one voice answers “me”. Prophecy for
The way we’ll fill up your car with warm breaths
Just as the sun’s grip starts to loosen.
Your shoulders carry that heavy heat
All the way home. It stretches easily
To my own skin, still only dusk-cool. It’s nice,
To share this thing neither of us asked for.
To be simmering but not alone.