The thermometer hit triple digits yesterday,
    Fort Worth stretched out
    beneath a sun determined to make its presence known.

Asphalt softens, air shimmers,
     the Sun brings the party—
     draping every corner in heavy,
     breathless heat…

     concrete sighing under the weight,
     the world melting at its edges.

Funny,
     how even the hottest days
     can't quite match the warmth
     of your name popping up on my screen—

     bright bubbles blazing brighter than midday sun.

Our words burn through distance,
     little wildfires spreading…
                   line by line,
                   song by song,
                   joke by joke,

     conversation kindled gently,
     effortlessly igniting without warning,
     flaring into the quiet hours of the morning. (or noon, or night)

Last night,
     even as our teams cooled,
          as the scoreboard smirked,
             the heat stubbornly held,
                     I felt you there—

     voice like a soft ember, glowing long after the final message.

The pulse of your laughter,
     the warmth of your smile,
     the way your words linger in the heat,

     the way you make me feel
     like summer’s just a prelude to something hotter.

Bring on the heat, Texas.

I’ve already got one eye on Atlanta,
     counting the days like rising temperatures,
     ready to trade triple digits
     for a different warmth—

     words whispered in the shade,
     hands held tightly beneath starlight,
     conversations that crackle without burning out.

Bring the heat—
      because distance doesn’t stand a chance
      when we’re already smoldering,
                 already on fire,

                 already hotter than summer ever dared.