Turn In

The heat's clinging on the walls
As if to live,
And I switch on the fan,
If only to hear the sound
Of movement again.

Whirring like a wasp on my eardrum
And ready to sting.

I think I'll turn in.

The sun's bringing on the fall,
For real this time,
And I'm stuck inside
Wondering if I'll see
Its movement again.

Feeding like a leech on my daydreams
And starting to sting.

I think I'll turn in.