If I were an artist
I could make you mine,
in full colour

I could delicately brush
every inch of you,
gently caressing your beautiful body
with each loving stroke

I would gaze at your form,
longingly,
stare into your eyes
without shame

Adding splashes of red
for love and passion
and maybe you
would love me too

If I were an artist
I could keep you forever

I may cry
when you pass.
don't be fooled
it's not for you.

It's for the father
I should have had,
the father I deserved.
That's what I'll grieve
not you.

Never you.

What's there to miss?
I can do without you
making me feel awkward,
ignored,
an inconvenience.

Can you understand my view?

There were no cuddles
for me,
no tenderness
or tender words.

I did not even want you
to 'give me away'
on your only daughters
wedding day.
Escaping abroad
escaping feeling ignored.
You lost all rights
to hand me over
to another man
that would protect me.

You never got that right
did you?
Couldn't even protect me
from yourself.

So I sometimes think
about your health,
you, drinking yourself
               to
                    d
                      e
                  ­      a
                          t
                            h­

Not sure how much more
your old and bitter body can take

and I wait* ......

Watching long shadows
some slipping under fences
tricky summer suns
like to play me dumb
or glare me, half blind
sometimes I run
or sometimes walking backwards
looking where I've been
in the heat of day
only a dream to sway
under the cool
of moons

Breath of life, it is a wild ocean
always a tide coming and going
in this place, it does not linger long
never holding on, only drifts quietly into night
into stars, into fleeting sparks of fire flies
or in the night waters, a ghostly glow
of phosphorescence, a transient trail
of luminescence that soon
fades and reappears to light
the deepest depths
of sea

’Twas noontide of summer,
  And midtime of night,
And stars, in their orbits,
  Shone pale, through the light
Of the brighter, cold moon.
  ’Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
  Her beam on the waves.

  I gazed awhile
  On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
  There passed, as a shroud,
  A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
  Proud Evening Star,
  In thy glory afar
And dearer thy beam shall be;
  For joy to my heart
  Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
  And more I admire
  Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.