Tepid rooms, light and dark in equal parts
Light bulbs on, outshone by the shy sun
Dust dancing, rising high, the window is the jail separating me from the sky
Windows propped open slightly, a bee runs past and passes on my room
I can smell Thyme, tea being slow roasted, the heat layers upon heat, my face toasted
Creams and blues and pinks, the walls in the shadows are icy and kind against my cheek, why does summers arrival make me feel so weak.