Streams of sweat dribbled down her forehead. She cursed the searing and sultry weather for the umpteenth time as her palms worked efficiently and pummelled the flour with accurate precision to knead the perfect dough. Satisfied with the outcome, she decided to catch some shut-eye and trudged towards the living room.
With a swarm of ideas in my head,
I perch on the sofa and begin my tread.
I think, I write, I think and I erase,
Only to involuntarily find myself staring into blank space.