an evening reverie (iii)

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bricks, mortar, dull-white paint shedding
down the wall — the iron rods sticking out
like the full flush of loneliness — pennies
stuck to my palate — empty eyes stinging

with an evening demand for staying, clay
pots scattered, broken melon lips linking
skies with mouthed words, those unsaid
are never too dull – fuchsia pink – boiling

tricks, sweating armpits, a pulsing heat —
smoking, sweltering, steaming —

.

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That kind of an evening — linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.