Summer Heat
Summer Heat
Morning melts and dribbles
through the blinds, where it rests
in molten puddles on the floor
If you are very still, you can hear
the tap...tap of its fingers as it tries
to seep under the door
Hide anywhere you want to...
go ahead and find a place
Count to one hundred, hands over eyes
Childish giggles bubble from your lips,
but it will find you, no matter your disguise
Afternoon is a pyroclastic lava flow,
devouring each bit of flesh,
sucking the breath from each laboring lung,
melting flesh into tallow for the candles
of night, to be lit upon the sacrificial
altar of your tongue
Copyright © Sherry Asbury | Year Posted 2018
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