Oct 2020
Summers,
even the dew is hot
And it pools like searing wax on the envelope of the morning.
Summers here are always wet.
Whether with rain, with sweat,
or with the dew.
The saturated, heavy, morning heat
Permeates my skin
And chokes up on my neck,
While coffee does nothing to quench my inconsolable thirst.
even the dew is hot
And it pools like searing wax on the envelope of the morning.
Summers here are always wet.
Whether with rain, with sweat,
or with the dew.
The saturated, heavy, morning heat
Permeates my skin
And chokes up on my neck,
While coffee does nothing to quench my inconsolable thirst.
the prompt was to write a poem using the opening line from another piece of literature. I chose the opening line from Shirley Anne Grau's, "Fever Flower". I might add on to this later, but this is it for now.
