The sun sinks in the west tracing a fading day in brown and gold. As cicadas begin their earnest harmony the night is unrolled in a sheet of black velvet caressing both skin and hearts like an obsidian tongue of desire. It touches on flesh and burns an indelible brand of longing into the mind. It is the want of all prime adults. Like bees contained within a hive during a thunderstorm they hum and rattle for the sweet watery nectar of desire; ache to be melded into unions of consensual lust. It cannot be stopped, nor controlled and has thus ever defeated the dictates of man. For its execution is immortal, instinctive and within the salty dew of desire they shall discover a new world has come for them. Summer nights born of the soul from balmy days give way to more temperate airs and throbbing spirits seeking warm union as a way out of darkness are born anew.