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stick_figure_stateofmindPoems
She stands in the distance, The smell of a memory on her hands Old blankets and old incense, Old meals and tangerine melancholy and wick-fire soot, The smell of sharp turpentine and paint Reaching for me, like tentacles floating in the air. She stands in the distance, Sunbeams dripping from her fingers She stands, with a question on her face And I watch her, and I can only imagine Time standing still, frozen; my soul immortalized in a single stroke of tantalizing yellow I am made of paint and light.
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Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 1:19 PM UTC
I am made of Paint and Light
She stands in the distance, The smell of a memory on her hands Old blankets and old incense, Old meals and tangerine melancholy and wick-fire soot, The smell of sharp turpentine and paint Reaching for me, like tentacles floating in the air. She stands in the distance, Sunbeams dripping from her fingers She stands, with a question on her face And I watch her, and I can only imagine Time standing still, frozen; my soul immortalized in a single stroke of tantalizing yellow I am made of paint and light.
#paint#light#sun#memory#smell#colour
stick_figure_stateofmind
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stick_figure_stateofmind
20/F/hurtling through space
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 1:19 PM UTC
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