Heatwave

The weather evaporates like a feverish smog,

burning through the retinas of your eyes

that bathe in the transparent summer skies.

You salivate with the intensity of a prairie dog.

The steam clouds are now warning signs,

their message one linked to the intense drought 

a desert creature wouldn't sweat out.

You treasure the sun in lurid lines.

The timeless sand is in your dusty throat,

smoking out the remains of a incandescent fire 

stoked up by the fumes of a red-hot desire.

Your quench for thirst tends to float.

The fizzing cauldron of a globe lingers on.

It is like the vapours in a smoker's breath

whilst the birds swarm in circles of death.

The rain is welcome and has shone.