Rothko (2nd draft)

Caught within
a wire mesh cloud,
skin torn like wool
on a barbed wire fence.

In a field that smells of cinder
and charred fence posts
ashen lily petals crackle
in cellophane puddles.

You stand out like a stare,
the way you caught my eye
then blinked,

heavy lidded,
a swollen tongue,
thick and wet
licked across the sky.