Humid heat and the eternity of days cover me like a heavy quilt. Paired up with gravity to keep my head on my brown-biscuit arm, my arm on the musty-dusty, freshly-vacuumed carpet; its roughness in contrast to my silky skin. The sticky somnolence of summer sounds its humble susurration. My cool-to-me breath skims in and out in time with the fan; its whirled and hummed secrets so repeated they’ve lost all sense. Its ceaseless cadence lingers only as a lullabye.
*sniff* …Momsweat and hot dog.
My lackadaisical laze lies uninterrupted by their company—the dog sniffs me ice-cold and whines to me dreams of running and laughing. Surrendering in a satisfied flop at my back, his surplus heat fuels further slumbering passivity. Mama buzzes and flits about, opening windows, her straightening tracked by languid gaze, my fever dreams fulfilled in her sunshine and lemon-scented wake. Her hustle-bustle muffled, surceased in indolent effulgence.
I might wake up soon.