Art

I can't remember if I've posted this before or not, but I came across it again today and decided to post it [again].

Written for Kyleman.

A face coming closer through the
crowd
one that I've seen before,
known,
kissed and caressed [tenderly,
and greedily like a palette
knife against
canvas].

Relief washes like ink
through
me when you enter my
atmosphere -
a direct line [India ink smudged
by chalky fingertips across
a page]
from me to you

pulling, wanting,
smiling with a smirk
that paints hearts
cherry red [thick kisses made
with oil - the kind that take
days
to scrub off]

when you place your
hand on
me
[when the subject
returns the artist's
love, it buzzes through
the mind like a
mineral spirit high], gently

resting each finger
smoothly along the grain
of my skin [the way you
feel marble
in its loveliness]. Those same
digits take
mine [paint against skin never
felt as good as
this] let me take
them home