Thursday, February 14, 2013


In our other world,
you blur the lines
and make me forget
what day it is

with your eyes
and your fingers
and your breath
mixed with mine

like the paints
of a canvas
draining back
to the palette

a beautiful mess
of reciprocated Pollock,
crimson drips and
violet blossom
and colors we never
thought to invent

without the shape
of our love
running off
the edges

to be caught
in the cross
of this lovesick


strugglingwriter said...


I don't ever feel I'm deep enough to comment on poetry but I enjoy all of your poems and like to leave a comment just to know I enjoyed them.


Sarah Hina said...

And I appreciate every one of them, Paul.

Half the time I don't even know what I mean, anyway. :)

Charles Gramlich said...

Almost an abstract poem. very interesting.

the walking man said...

Awww Sarah if gazing at me makes you sick then love me no more!


Sarah Hina said...

Charles, I got on the painting idea, but wanted to bring it back to its source...something deeper and truer than art itself.

Mark, OH YOU.


Aniket Thakkar said...

Hmm.. it reads good backwards too:

of this lovesick
in the cross
to be caught

the edges
running off
of our love
without the shape"

Clearly, I'm going crazy.