"Synesthesia Form - Heat"

Everything but, the society of this village town shone with the sun's colorless, but, pure white

TRICKLING DOWN A BALTIC VINE

I want you
Says this universal sigh
To love you
While your lips are like the skies
Crimson sunset

In

The Fan

Prickly heat consumes my face,
in need of manufactured breeze,
from the fan that purpose bought,
all too aware of

Heat.
My short breath slashes the air
The heat,
slaps frozen wood on my arms.
A wave of soft sand shudders up my legs.
I feel

Pushing in closely, suffocating

sweating, draining, glaring

Burning sun, sand, metal..

Snow, Rain , No.

Only dry

hot

thirsty,