Flat tin roof

Hot air that pushes it’s way through nostrils and swirls through now damp curls

Old carpet

A couch that scratches bare skin

I rise languidly from my book

Giving new, felt, meaning to the word languid.

Christmas has left us behind. She has twirled off taking her sequins, sparkles and candy

She is a distant memory

Here in languid town.

Work is on the horizon but the hot red sun obliterates the view.

Thongs slap on black

Giving way to green brown, brown green

Hot sand

Warm Sand

Cool sand

Slide into endless blue fringed with white

Cold water pulls skin tight

Freshening delight

Here in languid town

Cooling down

Where solid ground meets forever blue

I meet  Australian Summer.


About eatmystreet

Join in the joie de vivre.
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