Heatwave

Strawberries spilled across the clean counter,
chased by the sharp silver of the knife that was shepherding them all towards the chopping board,
right next to the half pint of heavenly cream.

You told me that I’d get a headache,
from the heat,
and all my worrying.
Popped half a strawberry in between my lips with a kiss on my cheek,
and no word about how flushed and fevered my skin was.

I wailed as you whispered reassuring words,
I threw all the windows open with great theatrics as you chopped,
taking a brief break to take two ice poles from the freezer,
one blue, for you,
one pink, for me,
placing them both into my mad mouth,
until I was finally silent.

My frozen throat wanted to thank you,
suddenly more speechless as you stood on your tip toes,
one kiss, two kisses,
thunder gently breaking over my head.