The opposite of tender is kissing my mother goodbye,
while the swirl of loneliness sounds like, well, nothing.
The smell of rain lingers deep inside.
Tossing sadness deep into the sea,
I come back in a sloshing wave.

When tiptoeing in the valley of happiness,
I’m showing the evil within. And when I jump into the clouds,
it smells like marshmallows.
When a baby cries, it’s as bright as a early morning sunset,
with the smell of mischief in the air, like dirt in a cut.

A star in the sky smells like a raindrop on the road, continuing to
stay deep in the dark night. So a whisper in my ear
looks like a sly smile with a menacing meaning,
with the texture of color rough as rock,
reminding me the gloomy presence watches over.