First Day

squeak.

first day.

The musky smell of old wood,

peeling walls.

the drone of the air conditioner,

reverberating engine, whirring, singing its tune of awakening once again

I sit at my wooden desk

and I breathe the stale air of work

and the plastic smells of computers

and I listen

to the sounds of a movie playing

my mind is ticking

in a constant beat.

constant.

Warm yellow lights, they fill my eyes

I glance at my boss's table

in its lovely, cluttered glory

A loaf of bread, wires entwined like the exposed roots of an ancient tree

half eaten lunch, chopstick peeking from the side of its styrofoam box

piles and piles of loose paper

screaming to be shredded

they smile at me.

and again the smells, the old paint

organised mess

I think of my room at home

poring over paintings,

my lamp light at night.

and I sigh.

First day.

Lucy

Feeling the blues at night;

Without your touch
The resonance of your soft murmur
Lingers after the image of your sleep on my bed,
Along with your smell

Of your hair, your skin
your drool?
Our bodies, weaved together
Of kisses and caresses

Soft and warm
An explosion,
Like a burst aneurysm
Of course,

a million times more pleasurable.

Until the next time our lips meet,
My mind can only seek you in dreams