Gloves in Summer — The City That Speaks in Texture

Stomari • A Speculative Poem Cycle • Process & Drafts

✋ Gloves in Summer

Heat rests on the street
like a slow hand.

Sunlight softens the edges of everything—
brick, glass, skin—
until the whole block
feels touchable.

My receipt strip presses
through fabric in my pocket,
raised weather
keeping quiet time
against my thigh.