string, swings gently in

the summer breeze

like laundry, basking

in the sun

left out to dry

but unlike fresh linen

swaying between

pins on a clothesline

i feel my heart

wilt under the weight

of heat, the kind that

you’ll only find in the

barren womb of the

desert, painting mirages

reflected in the eyes of

weary travelers

x

© The Beast Goddess