Released over 1 year ago

	It was so hot that you didn’t wear clothes, only threw the windows and the shutters wide open and hoped for a breeze. The nights I couldn’t sleep, even with only a single sheet. You lay on the bed all afternoon while I sat and played guitar, the cool wood against my chest, until you asked me to stop. We showered several times a day, sometimes together. When it got dark, we ate and drank bottles of wine out on the patio, the sticky air sweet with the heavy scent of honeysuckle. It overpowered us. In the afternoons I was consuming books while you did sketches, when we could summon the concentration. Some days we drove to the sea, listening to Scarlet’s Walk until you pointed out that we should listen to something more Spanish. The only thing I could think of was Sun Kil Moon, but even he sings about San Francisco over the Spanish guitar. Still, it complemented the landscapes we were speeding through, looking like saturated photos through our sunglasses. That night I stopped reading Faulkner and started on the translations of Lorca from a Southern Review. I read you some while you lay on your chest, recovering from the day out of the apartment. When I put down the book, you got up and we danced like gypsies across the wooden floor, naked and restless.