Aestas Estas A quiet tailored street-- He, tired and placid, indolent from wickedness. She, Eurydice: 'Sing, love, it will snow.' Whispers of June clumsily graze our naked shoulders:Like two crisp satin ribbons twisting in the dappled summer light.Lilies spring from the foot of the bedwinding between our toes, between the sheets of a weary symphony. Her gossamer gown dances through the river eddies, tucked between the shadows of