these dank stares throttle
         clutch my seeing night, the ***** color of the mirage
  outside
                            stills     her   face  calm   like the weather
    of trees,   unsaying      quietness   erupting
         in a groping    yellow     yawn   of
                         splendid     sun

the   sharpness   of   this   incident
    she is    tired      of   all   and of   me,
              stretches her    bones   crackle,     snap
    out     of    ponderous    limit
       staggered      by    the   unsuspecting    blow

rising      from   a tense   moment  and  ending
        suddenly, with   an  obsolete  stare.