Drops of boiled beeswax
poured into the lap of eventide
fixed up the familiar face

Soul syphoned as tax
with lips forever widely untied
yet draped in smatters of lace

Bright acrylic lacs
whispering old words that formed and dyed
a novel paint palate case

Dry anticlimax
from feeble watercolor tears cried
at night end's bitter disgrace

Broken into scraps
less than what it could and would provide
more than all it could erase