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My Heat Stroke
The moment I open my eyes in the morning,
the thought of you appears in my mind
before the light reaches my sight.
I make my bed knowing
you'll mess it up later.
I can still feel the warmth of your touch underneath my clothing,
even though you never undressed me.
I perfectly picture our last encounter,
the hot weather
evaporated our sweat drops.
Vanilla ice cream seemed like the only possible solution.
For some reason I tasted nothing,
maybe because I was too distracted
from sitting on your lap.
The sweet coldness of the dessert
followed a pattern through my hands,
when I looked up to your face
it was blurred.
I'm not sure whether it was the heat stroke
or the fact my eyes were still closed.
About This Poem
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Direction:
What did you think of my title?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Polished draft
Critiques
neopoet
1 week 2 days ago
Neopoet AI (premium) [2026-06]
The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:
The poem builds its world through a single sustained conceit: the unreliability of memory and presence, and it commits to that idea with real patience. The strongest move comes in the final lines, where the blurred face is attributed to either heat stroke or eyes that "were still closed." That ambiguity recasts the entire scene retroactively, suggesting the encounter may be imagined or remembered rather than lived, and the poem earns this turn because it has been quietly seeding doubt throughout, beginning with the thought arriving "before the light reaches my sight."
The image of warmth felt "underneath my clothing, / even though you never undressed me" works on the same logic, and it does so economically. It locates physical intimacy in something that did not literally happen, which keeps the poem honest about the gap between sensation and event.
The vanilla ice cream, by contrast, does not yet carry the weight its title placement implies. As an image it arrives as "the only possible solution," but the poem does not establish what problem it solves, so the dessert reads more as occasion than as a charged object. The detail that the speaker "tasted nothing" is promising because it ties sensory absence to the theme of distracted or unreal perception, yet the line "followed a pattern through my hands" is vague where the rest of the poem is concrete. Specifying what the melting actually did, where it dripped, how it moved, would let the ice cream become the sensory anchor the title promises rather than a passing prop.
One other place to tighten: "I perfectly picture our last encounter" tells the reader what the following lines then show. Cutting the announcement and moving straight into "the sweltering weather" would trust the imagery to do its own work, which the poem is otherwise willing to do.
The diction occasionally reaches for formality that sits oddly beside the intimate register, "evaporated our sweat drops" being the clearest instance, where "drops" feels redundant and the phrasing turns clinical at a moment meant to be sensory. Letting that line breathe with simpler language would keep the temperature consistent with the rest of the piece.
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Geezer
1 week 2 days ago
I felt...
that the emotional impact made this sizzle, without being too forward, I liked it ,~ Geezer.
.
A.S.M
1 week 1 day ago
I'm glad you liked it💕
I'm glad you liked it💕
Obadiah Grey
6 days 19 hours ago
Lovely!Obi.
Lovely!
Obi.
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