A poem about a holiday

He, who is violent yet attentive to
his mistress. The ocean’s mouth a constant

confusion of desire. The owl’s
eye near candlelight almost shocks

me into needing you. No – just a
streetlight. As I fold a hundred soft

blue towels inside a hive of the sun’s
workers, I remember how within

your gaze stood a haggard deer
waiting and trembling

while my car sped along
windows down and singing.

 

 

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Blossom Hibbert

 

 

 

 

 

 

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