With Time To Kill In The Midst of a Crisis
For 20 years I’ve never quite discerned
these twisting white flowers
in the twilight
that filters
our gauze dining room curtains.
Outside, heavy humidity rubs her breasts
against all eight window panes.
I believe these white flowers
belong to the camellia or wild rose
family, somehow,
flapping their crocheted wings
at the sight of April
sauntering in the nude
past our open dining room window.
Alan Britt
Posted over on Unlikely Stories
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