The Italian Bedroom

There's nothing he can do but lie awake
as yellow light in beams envelops all.
Slow spiral-turning water on the lake.
The cracks and mould upon the plaster wall.
His voice is silent waiting for the call
from love afar, in English winter's breath.
She writes the lines as sunlight starts to fall,
soft violet words of his Elizabeth.
The scented lines that dance towards a crawling death.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.