Sweat pours from the places where my bones meet
My eyes shut against the glare of oil on asphalt
The wind carries whispers of rain, makes the leaves dance and fall
My skin radiates and tightens as I walk
Cars trundle past and around me, I hear them make their way
And I think about my mom, and about food, and about showering when I get home
This isn't a poem, is it
It's just me