Here I sit, at my desk,
Stuck to it,
by a thin layer of my own
sweat.

Two fans breath on me,
hot,
churned air,
barely dry me, or my
sweat.

It’s uncomfortable, tiring,
I can feel myself falling asleep,
but I can’even nap,
because the heat.

Am I melting?
Possibly.
My brain is.

My iced coffee,
quickly becomes lukewarm,
no longer refreshing,
just milk adding to the hot mess,
that I am.

Like the mouth of a dog,
the world pants around me,
wrapping me in a heat,
that makes me beg for the
winds and rains.

Brisbane summer,
without air-conditioning,
without a sealed house,
is a fever.
I sweat.