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Choking
by Nat Wilk
The holy yellow of death;
suffocating warmth,
the overwhelming radiance
of being too close to the sun,
of warm feet on blistering sand,
of being kissed for the first time.
I once knew…
a yellow like that.
A summer of lemons
where we squeezed lemonade
into glass Mason jars,
and the bumblebees buzzed
under dim golden string lights
that illuminated the backyard.
And I think,
I’ve never known a smothering yellow
quite like this
before.
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