July's Sticky Air
I fled the kiln
of the house
where ceramic floors
bake like focaccia bread.
My haven is a bench
in the shade of an oak,
praying for a breeze.
A bevy of bees hover
over blushing jasmine
and scarlet lilies,
dousing me with honey
in July's sticky air
as my finger
culls a drowned earwig
from my glass of iced tea.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment