Flat tin roof
Hot air that pushes it’s way through nostrils and swirls through now damp curls
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
Slide into endless blue fringed with white
Cold water pulls skin tight
Here in languid town
Where solid ground meets forever blue
I meet Australian Summer.