These city lights don't do you justice.
I swear that smile of yours
Lights up my night brighter than anything
Ever could.

  8h Jobira

O Painter
with thy own eye
                        would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
            and blemishes true

Load thy brush
                      with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the virgin frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
                  bethought, in deep

With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
                  and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
               of deep forest green

O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
       and the indigo moon.

Paint me as i standeth,
       prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might

Paint me in the optimistic
                             silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
                              of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal

O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
                            in a rainy day

Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken

Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
         with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon

O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
                               in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
             of a quite quaint butterfly

Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
                to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.

Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so bloody

Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;

Study mine own dry sorrow
                              in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.

O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print

Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too

When I paint, I’m never quite satisfied as I see all my mistakes, blemishes and colors not quite right. I tend to keep painting to try and get it all right. At some point, I arrive with the conclusion, if I keep going I’m going to mess it up. I stand across the room and, it’s then that I’m amazed at what I have created. I like to think that I’m seen in the same way by my creator.
Jobira 9h

I want to be the candle
that burns your cold heart—
until my flame dies
in your eyes,
and my fire subdued to glisten
in the dark cave of your algid heart,
leaving an everlasting—
spark of sunshine rays
to be reflected from your face
and my kindle love
gives you wings to fly,
taking you away
anywhere here
but to a different place.

@jobiranyc (12/17/2017)

Sunday afternoon scribble of freshness
  15h Jobira
Brianna Love

A Christmas gift for you
wrapped in a hundred red bows,
open this gift slowly
for you don’t want to miss the show.

With each little bow, you take off
you start to see the light,
for the beautiful flesh underneath
is all you see in your sight.

As this gift lays upon your bed
it trembles by your touch,
the expertise of your hands
is a little too much.

As your fingers move slowly
to remove each small bow,
detours they do take
as the flesh of your gift begins to glow.

This Christmas gift you uncover
aims to please all your needs,
as the bows fall to the floor
it’s time for your gift to please.

  1d Jobira
She Writes

Just because you’ve undressed her
Does not mean you’ve seen her naked

Do you know her past?

Just because you’ve touched her skin
Does not mean you’ve touched her heart

Do you know her secrets?

Just because you’ve been inside her body
Does not mean you’ve been inside her soul

Do you know her dreams?

Jobira 1d

Does time really matter,
to be infatuated or love someone?

I met this seductive woman
about 3 month ago,
and our chemistry exploded instantly;
she's has been in my mind ever since.
When she just says "Hello,"
she has ways with words
and sensual appeals,
for she sends fire through my feet
like a child, who's given a sweet candy.

But, she mostly makes me upset,
for she vanishes without a trace,
and in a blink of an eye,
she turns cold like ice.
The more she keeps her distant,
the more I long her presence;
and her distance won't remotely utter
her presence from my imagination.

I think about her whole being.
I long to know her sanity,
because I wonder
if she has laughed, or had a bad day.
I cannot truly justify to her
if my motive is passion or lust;
but she is always in my heart.

I am curious for myself,
is this obsession or true feelings
that’s burning my soul for her?
does the length of time really matter
to be drowning in the river of
infatuation or passion love of someone?

@jobiranyc (12/16/2017)

Inspired by Erica Carrillo's

I wish I knew the answer
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