Kitchen Heat

It's too hot up here in my azul attic.
The thermostat says 87 in the room, but the oven's on in the kitchen and I can feel the blast of heat as I pass inbetween.
Covered from head to toe in flour and sweat, I've slowly stripped to just my bra and panties, wondering if I could, or should, cook naked.
           I'm wondering if there's a moral ground demanding one must at least cover their genitals when baking.
           What about the nipples?
I wonder if it's hot enough to cook the pizza without the oven.

Cat glares at me, begging to be let downstairs where he can flop on the tile basement floor. Instead we take turns sitting in the shower.
The summer heat is here.
Without warning. It just appeared one day, catching us unprepared.

"Whatcha Doing?"
"Making Ice."
"How Much Ice Do You Need?"
"All Of It."

I splash water all over the kitchen, all over me.
It feels good on my grimy skin.
Cat lays in the puddles, a black and white rug at my feet.

Eyes slide shut.
Too hot to stay awake,
Take a siesta in my abode-
        I'll wake up and clean the mess up in the morning, before the sun is high above my attic roof, when it's cooler.