The Vent

Laying in bed staring at the vent thinking about you again and again and again.

Warm air blows down on to my face; I cannot breathe, for the heat is too intense.

If this is what happens when thinking about you takes hold of the flesh, I should go and find you now.

All hot and bothered and with no relief, I take a visit to the garden; the chill and the rain upon my face temporarily calms me.

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clarissawoodwrites

I spin words from a different space • music, the sea, and nature makes my words spin • ex-lawyer • I love turning ideas on their head •

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