The Salt of a Moment

July's breath clings heavy,

sweat pools like oil beneath my hairline,

a slick film that drips slow,

blurring vision and patience alike.

The collar bites, damp fabric tight against skin,

a second skin soaked with yesterday's heat.

Each drop salty, stinging,

a silent witness to the words I wish to swallow.

The sting of sweat in my eyes—

a blur over the fight,

a saltwater veil drawn tight

between what was said and what remains unsaid.