Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
Summer
The ceiling fan turns
seemingly without purpose,
sending a slight ripple of
shivers into the still air.
The porch isn't any cooler.
Tears of sweat make their way down
a slender glass of iced tea,
drinking up smaller beads,
becoming a rivulet as gravity brings
it more quickly into the pool
around the bottom of the glass.
A rivulet of sweat
makes its way down her chest
sending a tickle
as it finds its way between her breasts.
A sip of tea
cools her throat as it
makes its way down to
cool the soul of summer.
|
|
|