It is like leaving a glass
of ice cold sweet tea
out on a picnic table
in the middle of the summer

Sweat beads
drift down heated skin
But your insides are liquid
Cold and chilled with ice

The sun shines
Beautiful and unforgiving
Aware only of its need
To provide warmth

But the flowers detest
They love the burn
They love the sun
But their strength is of the earth
Their origin
Their roots

Ice melts
Tea dilutes
and in the end
You don't taste like you should