blank canvas without you,
only full of memory,
memory that invents you,
memory that recreates you,
in each stroke of longing.
Strokes of gray,
amongst the hills of the dying,
decrepit, silent, agony filled hills,
late train, filled with certainty,
to find you once more in the promise land.
Strokes of red,
longing for your voice,
and your ardent touch,
rosy red lips, amongst my skin.
Strokes of Black,
slow death, undeserved death
daggers on the back, from the treatment that was your "saving"
absent from your being.
Stroke of Purple,
stars, vapor clouds, constellations painted of your embrace
amongst pill induced dreams, false reality
false hope and false love,
but true longing which craves for your love again.