The bed springs creak as the mattress bounces,

Faking pleasured noises, I glance up to the sky,

A pure white ceiling furnishes my vision,

If I squint hard enough, the water stains appear,

Which all of a sudden evokes a reminder,

As I lie half-awake in the dimly lit hotel room,

No two ceilings are ever alike.

 

Ceilings arrive in varied colors and structures,

Smoke-stained ivory or blood-splattered tan,

Suffocatingly low or dizzyingly high,

My eyes have witnessed each one,

Whether on the job or crashing at a friend’s,

At morning, noon, at least once day or night,

The number is incalculable at this point.

 

The best collectible is the starry heavens,

In those seconds I don’t have to worry,

About where I am or who I’m sleeping with,

No admission price or counterfeit passion,

A body momentarily free of any weight,

Whether it be guilt, shame or human,

Here my soul is unbound from pain.

 

Present and reality always return,

As my physique is battered with lust,

Months of sweat and tears build up,

Enough to drown out my fears,

Enough to create a constellation,

Of which I can gaze out upon,

As the stars twinkle beyond this world.