A poem for Friday

Ignatz Oasis
by Monica Youn

When you have left me
the sky drains of color

like the skin of a tightening fist.

The sun begins
its gold prowl

swatting at tinsel streamers
on the electric fan.

Crouching I hide
in the coolness I had stolen

from the brass rods of your bed.

Ooh, I like it.

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verbivore said...

great images in this one - I love the skin of a tightening fist - so much there.
Thanks for sharing this one!

d. chedwick bryant said...

thanks, Lit Kit.