I rest my head against the fan
Sighing softly with a whine
“It’s so… hot.”
The words, simple, but barely forming
The shimmering bones beside me clatters
“It’s not hot, it’s the humidity”
The difference is lost on me
Sweat pooling beneath me
Oh to fall in the cool reflection
Never suffer this withering blast again
The world seems empty here
The sun driving all that crawls and cries to flee
All except a shadow by my door
The crow outside begs for rain
You and me both, buddy
The setting of the sun will bring no relief
The clay we built our hell on
Clinging to this cloying heat
Dried Ink Ribbon 
I saw a few layers within your heated poem, especially the finale two lines
“The clay we built our hell on
Clinging to this cloying heat”
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It’s fascinating what others see in my writing~ thank you for sharing! I did slip a few strange or otherworldly things in.
But legitimately, that was how I felt earlier today. 91 degrees Fahrenheit but a heat index of 105.
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Wow that’s quite hot…… about 8 years ago hear in Geelong it got to 117’F, and felt hotter,
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Record high here was 115 with around 90% percent humidity, that was five year ago. Thank goodness it hasn’t been anywhere near as hot since then.
That was… unreal.
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Our mother earth can certainly throw in some big ones !!
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“The shimmering bones beside me clatters
“It’s not hot, it’s the humidity””
My fav part…
I love this. It speaks to my frozen winter heart. Swapping Autumns and Winters is looking like a good idea… 🖤🖤🖤
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