His face was heavy and craked
with a lifetime of broken bedtime stories
between the painted brushstroke colors
trapped in the tears his eyes cradled
and sang to sleep everytime the moon
showed its thin silver crescent smile
she quoted Bob Ross before
she sat a barstool away from him
and a snort of a laugh escaped his mouth
and the minutes passed into hours
and the shots became doubles
and the empty barstool now swayed
and creaked under the weight of them both
and they laughed
until twelve minutes until three
when the bartender kicked them out
and they  got lost between the dim light
of a crescent moon
and a tangle of bed sheets
and soft pillows filled with flowers
that smelled like orchids dreaming
and she guided his hand between her ribs
and placed it over her heart and whisperd
its cold in here....
and he traced the outline of her pulse
with his fingertips
and left a trail of fire
beneath her bones
and he could hear voodoo beating
its drums in her blood
and he felt her smile split his ribs open
and her hands fondling his withered heart
and she spoke in foreign languages
of old tounges tied and knotted
in the arts of love
and the room grew dark
as the moon was swallowed
by clouds and witchcraft  
and his eyes bleed out their colors and tears
and he broke down sobbing
and she took him into her arms
and beneath the ocean of her eyes
where their tears swam together
with the salt of the sea
and the night was swallowed
by the sun breaking the horizon
and they both disappeared
into a song known only to mermaids