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Koray Feyiz Oct 2016
I mean the rain you drop in my voice
like a cloth cut by scissors, bridling its mare
and my hand sniggering in lust
though a smell of a banana

in an old part of this city, all alone
in hotel rooms and on brass beds
dirtiest hours of my face
a sartor with winter night face.


Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz)

— The End —