Dreaming in Fahrenheit

I dream in Fahrenheit
Between the great northern hours of
January through March
From beneath the heavy heat of stews
And layers
And the shapeless form of pants and pants and socks and
In the quivering, shivering sleep I make out
The swirls of reds and orange and purple
And blues that are not of dead
But of the back of the bay
And I taste on my tongue sweet creams
That only the sliver of summer can afford
And I am waist-deep in the soft decadence of sand
The lover I take is San Diego
The coast
The wavelets
We talk for hours and when we’re not talking
We’re on each other
Like burning.