Sometimes I paint a picture
of you in my mind. From the lines
on your toes to your
every eyelash, every curve, and I know
you are my Pygmalion,
I know inside,
you're still stone cold so I
take another chance
and blur up my visions
I make space
for the little details in the middle,
I open my ideas and shake them
like a blanket, let them
roam free and come back to me,
come back with flesh, with blood
boiling in their veins, with substance
heavy for me to carry,
tame, discover
like a wild jungle
new brushes, unplanned,
fill the canvas I have made.
רשומות
