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
gaze
6 comments:
<3
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.
Paul
And I appreciate every one of them, Paul.
Half the time I don't even know what I mean, anyway. :)
Almost an abstract poem. very interesting.
Awww Sarah if gazing at me makes you sick then love me no more!
{:-[p}}}}}
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.
;)
Hmm.. it reads good backwards too:
"gaze
of this lovesick
in the cross
to be caught
the edges
running off
of our love
without the shape"
Clearly, I'm going crazy.
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