Whoa, hot.

It is impossibly hot in the sunny, southwest Metropolis.

Like 95 degrees inside, 115 degress in the sun hot.

Like the cats are shedding ALL their fur hot.

Like it isn't possible to knit the baby blanket for Silas because the yarn keeps sticking to your fingers hot.

And the sweaty Dickinsonian oracle, which thinks it is suddenly in Baltimore and not in the sunny, southwest Metropolis, issues this forecast:

It knew no lapse, or Diminution -
But large - serene -
Burned on - until through Dissolution -
It failed from Men -

I could not deem these Planetary forces
Annulled -
But suffered an Exchange of Territory -
Or World -
(E. Dickinson, 568)

Sticky Kissy

The radio's just been playing "Baby Knock Me a Kiss" by Louis Jordan and you can't get better than jam and kisses. Both can:

be sticky; stay in the corners of one's mouth; come in a variety of colors; be savored in the middle of winter, when ripe fruit has long since disappeared (at least in this frost-frigid metropolis); go well with either cream cheese or butter or stand on their own sweet feet. Yum.

The Dickinsonian oracle predicts your fate with both jam and kisses:

Expectation - is Contentment -
Gain - Saiety -
But Saiety - Conviction
Of Necessity

Of an Austere trait in Pleasure -
Good, without alarm
Is a too established Fortune -
Danger - deepens Sum -
(E. Dickinson, 865)