August is hot as lust.
I was born in January
And in me you see
The soul of winter.
I have a splinter
Of ice in my heart.
My poetic art
Is January. and hot August.
No man can outrun the sun.
But birds sing
In the spring.
And winter’s splinter is my art.
K Morris - Poet 
It’s not true about yourself, Kevin! Your poems have a certain heat in them. 😉 Have a beautiful weekend! xx Michael
Thank you Michael. You too, have a good weekend. All the best. Kevin
:-)) Thank you, Kevin! xx Michael
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Sometimes August is too oppressive for lust. As they used to say of summer in Baltimore, you knew it was there when even newlyweds started yelling at each other.
Thank you for your comment, which made me smile! With the climate warming we will, I suspect get more couples yelling at one another, both in America and elsewhere. Kevin
LOL!
Superb. What a wonderful first line.
Thank you, Colin, I very much appreciate your kind comment, and I’m delighted you like my poem. Best wishes. Kevin