Moiety.

An afternoon bathed in hearth
bodies browsed by incandescence
can stymie a stack of whims
a Delhi dipped in chatoyance.

For ardor carries on unabridged
when argued with, it ravels thin
like red ants that inch to trick
a fetching mirage filled with summer sins.

Their they're seized by providence
a colony unclasped, high on confidence
furtively abandons pattern, retreats
perhaps addled,
perhaps a lack of discipline.

On their little toes, they menace
forked, diverging, increasingly tense
a reluctant pool of swimming ants,
lying naked, inaminated on the circumfence