Torrid Summer

When the air smells of popcorn and smoke and raspberries I remember you.
The memories are still there, still full: the strident colours of a lollipop bought from the market fair, the sticky cotton candy weaved around a splintered wooden stick, the yellow, muddy lemonade. Oh, the circus performance of a life time!
You used to bring me gifts: every piece of story, every scrap of word you could find. I needed then the wall of your words to rest my mind in its shadow, to crawl on it like wild ivy towards light and rain. When it collapsed I ran and hid.
The corner of the moon dipped into the dark, bitter night makes it now soft and bearable. Tomorrow your absence will once again scorch my day.
I still remember the story you told me, about the little desert animal able to increase its heart beat, to raise its body temperature, becoming hotter than the burning heat, the air around it suddenly cool and soothing.
I tried and failed. I really tried but look at me! Look at me now!