Untitled by Gypsy Guillen

It’ll be the slinky
strappy summer
of the wind that blew but never came
Never reached my 30th or 9th floor
that hovers above
offering sheltering shadow
to dehydrating city dwellers.
City walkers.

--

The sun is a ruthless
Reflecting object of heat.
And the slinky, strappy, white
summer goes on.
Moves on.
In a hazy westward wind
coming from the shore of a port
that was once the greatest in the world.

--

It fails to reach either of my floors.
It fails to inform me that there is
a slinky, strappy, white, sexy summer,
whose nights are filled with moonlight
streaks of silver, that are sometimes
as bold as a full moon and as sharp as a half one.

--

Metal injections of silver
penetrate the night of the slinky,
strappy, white, sexy summer
as I walk down the street from
my 30th or 9th floor.
The westward wind is blowing
and bringing a glorious scent
to the night.

--

It’s a night of slinky, strappy,
white, sexy dresses that are
sometimes silver as a bold full moon
or as sharp as a half one,
and rub up against luxurious suits
of men. Men that may be
luxuriously poor or luxuriously rich,
All in the slinky, strappy summer
                                                   night.