The trees are sweating
and the flowers are thirsty.
My eyelids don’t want to cooperate.
Rocks seem to bend like water.
Minutes and hours are… sticky.
It’s a thumping pulse
of worry on a late July day.
The trees are sweating
and the flowers are thirsty.
My eyelids don’t want to cooperate.
Rocks seem to bend like water.
Minutes and hours are… sticky.
It’s a thumping pulse
of worry on a late July day.
The Word Rummager 
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