my heart hangs on a
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
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