It began after I had removed my pinafore dress, At the end of my gardening hour. Bare and cleansed after shower, I had grabbed the secateurs to remove a wilted flower On my favourite periwinkle. As I cut it, a slight tremor charged my fingers And a gentle rush, perceptible yet subtle, pushed my blood. Slowly, it progressed into this encircling sensation. I am warming up little by little, my days dilate under the force of An undiagnosed yet affliction. Their pestering advices singe me even more, my only eviction Is given by ice baths, fleeting recesses out of this sly conviction. Lately, I hallucinate, there are instants when I could swear I see cranes with clippers growing On their wings, impeding their soaring, and hearts leaking In dried branches of everlasting trees. When I fall asleep, exhausted in my soaked White lingerie, while this fleshy frame of codified secrets attempts To cast away the damaging heat, I get trapped in same reverie: an empty-eyed chatelaine stares at me And murmurs in the rhythm of her waist dangling key In a vanished idiom, before I find myself audaciously Bargaining over a red banger decorated with four-leaf clover. Awoken, I cry over my knees and long for a coolness To whom I once belonged, and judder at the thought of This mysterious foe that keeps me in this mood of not lethal (specialists assessed), but consuming state of being. I feel as if I were dragged and abandoned on A battlement, pores wholly opened to A haemorrhage of unfiltered rays. Inevitable, besetting and fierier than impulses of erotic fays In lovers embarked on intimate explorations above rocky bays. I am a searing firework rising from the lava of My thawed bearability. If I could only spark without going off after!