Photo 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?