My July

My July licks the sweet,
sticky juice of popsicles
as it melts down between knuckles.
My July pops and cracks like fireworks,
arriving with a fanfare of noise,
refusing to go unnoticed,
claiming its full share of attention.
All heat and passion,
my July is made of bare arms and thighs
and knows the boldness of the body,
the burden and blessing it is to be human.