The Heat

Wednesday 21 March 2007

They say April is worse.

I sit legs spread not waiting the moisture of my thighs to touch into a sticky heated mess.

Why are clothes necessary for decency?

I move my cot out of the moving light, but it is impossible to escape.

The liters and liters I drink are as warm as a cup of tea and I rarely pee.

The hot breath of mother nature comforts me for a mini-second.

The droplets that flow down my chest are incredibly cooling.

Yet the heat is trapped here, a prison I cannot break free from.

At dusk when my eyes don’t seek shelter from the bright glare, its beautiful overpowering sphere, so moonlike, fills the sky, a huge presence whispering goodbye, its daily torture already fading from the memory in the awe of its beauty.