he was a quiet kind of beautiful
words filled his mouth like bees
trapped in honey

the music of the stars is in his voice
and his dark liquid eyes move in harmony with the tide

but that morning, when sleep filled his face like fluid
and he had dreamed of someone other than you,
the bond that held you together like earth and sky was torn apart
and you were thrown out,
like a piece of tainted meat

she walks down to where the land meets the water and gazes upon her realm of sky and sea
she breathes deeply and looks towards the horizon where looming, dark clouds are forming
she invites them to do their worst, and they gladly accept
the wind whirls around her and plays a melancholy tune of things to come

the thunder rolls towards her and greets her with a powerful rush of noise
the rain starts to fall and dances lightly to the song of the wind
the thunder composes itself into booming drumbeats, completing the song of the storm

the fluorescent light buzzes overhead,
like some sort of bright swollen bee
not sure if he is the type concerned with honey making
or human stinging

i walk over to the cold floored
***** mirrored
always somehow slightly damp bathroom
and when i wash the painter's pallet of makeup off of my face
what am i left with?
a blank face, dull eyes
staring into a blank face with dull eyes
we are told that those colorful smudges on our face
somehow make us more beautiful
but in the eyes of. . . ?

doesn't matter

the carpet, though clean
is always somehow *****
how many people have lived in this room before me again?
100? 1000?
each of them as much in this room as i am
they surely must have noticed what i have
the ceiling tile near the door that has nearly fallen out
that one yellow tile in the bathroom that should be blue
the way the window will only lock if you have the
strength
and patience
of at least three people

if walls could talk
or anything in this room for that matter
i'm not sure i would want to hear what they had to say