Salt in the Wound

Drenched in the warmth of summer sun too long,

No SPF between me and that gradient sky.

The heat was soft—until it slowly stung,

And boiled my back in painful goodbye.

Smiling through sweat, letting it all unfold,

The shade, somehow, has still left me burned.

The irony—how hot the heat of never-ending cold,

Until I’m numb enough to feel unconcerned.

I walk toward waves, too tired now to run.

The water’s caress recalls what I half-knew—

A greeting from that gentle, salted burn

That licks the wounds I hid and pulled me through.