Head aching, back sinking.
Life draining, hands slipping.
It´s not the heat it´s the closeness of air,
The feeling of drifting rudderless.

Wrists itching, toes sliding,
Around the cavernous walking shoes,
It is not the heat itself it´s not that hot,
It´s the longing for the evening.

Back aching, arms heavy,
Legs lie limp, torso dropping,
It is the heat that increases gravity,
I am wishing for nightfall.

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