It's a dead end heat, walking along the black asphalt,
Gravity pulling heavy on my ankles, needling my sore shoulders,
As various A/C units kick on, droning against the dead leaves,
Heavy as rushes at the edge of a pond.
I can almost smell the moss and peat and crave the cooler air,
Mouth watering for that earthy atmosphere and paths, outside this blistering concrete,
On and on the days drone on, on and on they fly by, and I'm missing,
Hours spent inside back tracking hours, reminiscing the haze
Over an abandoned playground, or the touch, of a forgotten moment,
Blood slowing, shutting down, circulation sluggish, dead,
Trying to cool down for just a breath