Escaping the Heat

 

The torch of a furnace,
height of summers heat,
radiates through windows
car seats, even the pages
of my journal, like the sands
of the mojave desert in August
these pages radiate
opened and turned
upon a small table
inside the air conditioned Starbucks;
Where poetry evaporates
and mingles with aromas
of coffees, espressos, and iced cinnamon dolce lattes…

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