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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2 comments:
great images in this one - I love the skin of a tightening fist - so much there.
Thanks for sharing this one!
thanks, Lit Kit.
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