BY SETH AMOS

Curbwater reeks,

sweet as cheese.

Convection of buildings.

Passing cars,

little relief.

Fan chops the air

before serving it warm.

Sweat cascades

down the rapids of my body.

Chill my liver in gin

but keep it for garnish.

A mastiff looks me in the eyes

and pees. Seasons

break my heart.

Summer wants to love,

but it’s clingy.

My lover soaks

a silk dress in a salad bowl.

Makes me hungry.

Seth Amos is cofounder and former poetry editor of Rivet: The Journal of Writing That Risks. His work has been published in or is forthcoming from Tin House, Blood Orange Review, Cagibi, The Canopy Review, and elsewhere.

Process note: One wears a New York City summer. Everything is slow, except the sweat. Desire drags until, like the sweat itself, it leaps upon you all at once.