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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Other · #718245
It's not the heat, it's the humidity, right? Suggestions appreciated.
Summer is a madness,
a drowsy delirium that weights my eyelids in the daylight
and drives me restless from my bed into the darkness.

Were I Juliet on my balcony,
Romeo’s cries would fall on deaf ears, for
the sky holds all my desire tonight.

What would I not give to feel a shiver,
a breath of cooler air?
I sit and watch the sweat salt-stain my skin;
waiting for the fever to break,
for the heavens to break,
for the gravid clouds to release the water-heavy air.

Sleep drifts finally closer, borne by the scent of rain,
as the leaves tremble in the downpour.
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