The Art Museum

The walls shine as bright as yesterday’s eyes.

The hankering elasticity of the air is like my heart; thin.

The acrylic woman is lonely, and inwardly she cries,

But alas, as our scents mingle, your caress is limited only to my skin.

We sprawl, limbs entangled on the cold grey floor.

As you exhale, my lung expands.

The gust of air is cold, but we don’t bother to close the door,

because we take each other to higher lands.

Tim seems to crawl like a wet-winged noseeum.

I am caught in the undertow of your charm

like our first time together at Sage’s symposium.

I may look like I’m drifting, but I honestly mean no harm.

You look at me, and your smile coruscates with desire

my heart beats within yours’ pause

your rough embrace twinges my skin with fire

and the scant green in your eyes is reminiscent to Oz.

Am I your destiny? Is this our fate?

If only, if only, I whisper in your ear

We’ll enjoy it while it lasts, and next time we’ll await

but at peace, until then, we’ll lie here.