the night is too hot. the single cotton sheet is too much, bunching up around me, his skin like a furnace at my back, the occasional stale breeze only a mockery of relief. agitation builds in me, makes my legs itch, my eyes roll, the sweat creeping in the creases behind my knees, under my breasts, the back of my neck. he is snoring, faintly, the neighbor's air conditioner growling, the room in its perpetual orange twilight because nothing is ever dark here, not in this city, not really. i want to scream, i want to shove him onto the floor, i want to take a little codine or a long swim or a high dive onto cold pavement. the heat is scratching into my bones, getting under my scalp, drying my throat and my blood. his heartbeat thumps against me, terrible, i move away, kick off even the sheet, try not to lash out.

the breeze changes.
a moment after the rain begins throwing itself against my open window, he nestles his forehead between my shoulderblades in the way i love best, and the rain is loud, so loud on the windowscreen and his breath is soft, and suddenly, easily, i sleep.