your words, they sound
like rushing drums;
eccentric blood
that rings and hums.

your words, they feel
like feather beds.
a snowflake's kiss
upon our heads.

your words, they look
like morning dew
reflecting soft,
viridian hues.

your words, they taste
of clarity;
peculiar spice
of rarity.

your words, they smell
of night sea breeze,
and everything
that brings me ease.

your words, i keep
them close to me,

but you: a faded
memory.

melodramatic voices
echo through my head,
liquefy out my lips,
and pool at the curve of my palm.

sometimes the voices
get too much.
so i smear them unto paper

and call them art.