Beads of Sweat

The sun stares down at me and reminds me of its
Presents as the sweat beads retrace my hairline ever so softly
They appear like an army gathering force they silently
Gather momentum forming one sweat bead that trickles down
My temple and steadily ends by my clenched jaw line.

My back standing at alert against my floral dress whispers of the coming tide
When my dress that meant no harm gently stroked it hoping to rid
us of this imminent tide which the sun had bestowed upon me.

I feel the journey begin as the army rallies its troops and from the nape of my neck
Like a lover tracing my spine with his tongue the beads of sweat begin to March. Time stood still at that moment as I imagined the gentle caresses of a lover with a block of ice, steadily making its way down with the cool wind from his voice whispering dark desires that left me thirsty and speaking to my parched throat.

On the crest of my butt stands the Colonel with a standard held high.
The beads staring ahead march on to the step of my feet, which gives them an extra beat and the march continues - passing through valleys that I have not seen, softly they traipse along and in protest my dress gives in, absorbing what’s left of them.

A cooling effect is what they claim to give instead i find it sickening.
Sickening that I now have to walk around self-conscience of the evident bloodshed.
I refuse to give in, have no choice, for the rhythm I give my army with my feet
Is the rhythm that puts money in my pocket and food on my table.

These beads of sweat will not render me incompetent neither will the file me in the self conscience cabinet or next to the too lazy to get up and do something group. With the sun beating up on me, my back arched in protest, I walked.