sunlight lingers in the aching
teal room, the world whistling
gently outside as if to offer
its existence. from a fender
amplifier, frank ocean offers
no response. still, the sound
fills for now.
the house is steaming
with things to say, but keeps
it to itself and festers so
that it’s all filled with smoke.
lights and colors oscillate
adorning walls then fade away;
words exchanged and ashes
spilled, seeds of laughter
woven through the carpet.
quickly as they grow, flowers
wither and decay.
attempts to rearrange have
been made and reinvented.
a kaleidoscope of candles,
ever scented and re-centered,
masks the heavy, tired air
just as well;
in the whoosh and sway
of fluorescent wishes and
smoke rings, i’m comfortable
and sleepy in my prison cell.
i watch your face as it
blends throughout and
reluctantly fades.
the booming music lulls and invades.
the house would sooner crumble than tell.
©noodle
N