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Summer

The heat is a tangible object,
Wavering up from the dry earth like ghosts,
Pressing down on sun-burned shoulders
And forcing even the strongest will to melt.

I can taste the warmness on my tongue,
Like a heavy roundness.
The swaying ghosts threaten to invade my body
And conquer my soul,
Dancing on my chest,
Forcing me lower and lower,
Each breath comes harder and harder.
Sweat runs down my sagging face,
Like water after a storm,
And stickily gathers on the back of my neck.

Even your eyes slowly tracing my silhouette
Burn like red-hot coals
Being shoved against my skin.

The oppressing day is spent
Longing for night
And the insufferable night
Spent waiting for day.

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