Drizzled lawn chairs

Drops melt rivers into soft blond bristles
And rivulets streak sand dusted cheeks
I sit on the roof
Until my skin puckers against the breeze
Sweet merciful weather patterns, 79 degrees is artic
Lightning scratches the panorama of Atar skyline
Rain trickles down my neck collecting salt
And sweat
Sending it to pool on the white plastic lawn chair beneath me