Photo by Natalia Lee

By Natalia Lee

I don’t like you breathing so much on my neck, SUN.

Instead, lay your head gently on my shoulders and caress my skin;

care for me as you do the withering flowers within.

How well of a job you’ve done.

I praise the Moon & look nothing towards you, SUN;

As some pray for your arrival more often than none.

“The Earth’s a little warmer now!” they say huddled about in thick clothes of singed skin.

Posters & rallies, they round ’em up by the herd and treat them to ice and screams.

Eat it, eat it, will ya’!?”;

Screams of melting within.

Oh, no no no no dear—–not like that!

What a silly one.

They tisk and task and force it down your throat with no time to think–no time to act–how could anyone even move in this heat, tell me—-

Would it be less hot with the fire off?


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