up against the wall across
from me sits a desk painted
with a deep but peeling green
the color of eyes i cannot forget

atop the desk a mound of books
waiting to be read and re
read threaten to bring the desk to
its knees but i still add to the pile

up on the wall behind the books
hang sheets and sheets of paper
bloodied with unfinished words
each paper placed carefully with
a small strip of blue tape to
hold it in place so that every
time i sit at the desk holding
the mound of books i get distracted
by the unfinished words

they take my mind off of the deep
green the color of eyes i cannot forget

i like to sit and watch the sun
as it tumbles downward to the earth
pulling the skys color like a curtain
with it, and ponder the possibility
of it never climbing its way
back up again

i could do most anything (with no
worry of tomorrow to fall like a
rotten tree and cover my path)
i could confess a secret love (forget
about my approaching fate as
i held beauty in my arms) i could
beg forgiveness (to ensure that
i do not die with a heavy heart)

but, with all things considered
i would much rather sit
here and watching the sun pull
away the curtain (to reveal
the stars)