In the heat of the day I fail.
My mind and it's multitude of ideas are lost.
My brain finds itself a miasma of warm lumpy custard.
Humidity and thickening air weigh me down.
Yet I cannot enjoy a refreshing siesta,
The sheets damp - cling
The afternoon sun finds a slit between the blinds,
And finds my face
No respite.
Nothing to do but to wait,
Until the coolness of night.
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