I originally posted this last fall and received some good feedback. I recently pulled it out and began reworking it in order to submit it to our univ's literary magazine, The Tecumseh Review.

August

A soft night filled with air so thick
it sticks to my lungs.

Hanging low in the sky a heated moon glows red
as cicadas scrape shins.

Prurient, I exude that deep, earthy
scent that draws lovers in as

a cool breeze brushes my hot skin carrying billions of
microscopic spores that dust everything they touch

including me.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2008
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Here's the original piece:

August

A night soft, sultry with air so thick
it sticks to my lungs.

Whoever said women are dewy
was full of shit. We exude that deep,
earthy-scented power drawing lovers in.

Cicadas scrape shins, and I shiver as a breeze
passes over my hot skin.

Languid, hanging low in the sky a
heat moon glows red.

Copyright Cher Cunningham, 2007

Nice re-write, Cher. My only suggestion is to change "that dust" to "dusting," putting that concept in motion.

Well, on second read through, you may want to choose something else besides "carry" in that last stanza and clarify that it is the cool breeze and not your hot skin that is carry billions of microscopic spores. I suggest something more floaty-sounding. Nothing is presenting itself for suggestion. You know, a good question might be does the breeze carry the spores, or do the spores cling to the breeze? I do totally "get" the image you're reaching for, though. It's lovely.

Thanks, Anna, for coming back to this one. I'm still working it out. Like you, I think the end can be tighter I'm just not sure how to tighten it up.

Cher