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Alabaster hands I paint like I know you but I am afraid I paint like I know the hours of holy songs he sang when chip by chip he broke his David out of stone but I mumble with a brush polluted a tomb with thievery and doubt if I return to you I will do so stollen rolled up in bay and -- my Florence! I couldn't see you I was lost I could not be him he unleashed, I hold and now you wear his hands like a beloved scar and then you haunt my sleep with your eyes of old I am sessile, sterile - I doubt. I cannot speak. stone carved inadequate, for I do not know hands the venules and the etchings. I could not learn fiddling like a cricket in the arms of leaf I see him leap through ages to come and observe I am an artefact flaw and him the sound perfectionist he inspects fingers as they stumble in paint ever-looming, giant, bearded with a broken nose you, Florence! He steals movement, instill it, gifts it you wear it, then you watch me with museum eyes Good love, I am no David do not ask that of me, I may weep stone in my hand I sling stutter over my shoulder and watch the forever tyrant grow
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Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
Hesitation
Alabaster hands I paint like I know you but I am afraid I paint like I know the hours of holy songs he sang when chip by chip he broke his David out of stone but I mumble with a brush polluted a tomb with thievery and doubt if I return to you I will do so stollen rolled up in bay and -- my Florence! I couldn't see you I was lost I could not be him he unleashed, I hold and now you wear his hands like a beloved scar and then you haunt my sleep with your eyes of old I am sessile, sterile - I doubt. I cannot speak. stone carved inadequate, for I do not know hands the venules and the etchings. I could not learn fiddling like a cricket in the arms of leaf I see him leap through ages to come and observe I am an artefact flaw and him the sound perfectionist he inspects fingers as they stumble in paint ever-looming, giant, bearded with a broken nose you, Florence! He steals movement, instill it, gifts it you wear it, then you watch me with museum eyes Good love, I am no David do not ask that of me, I may weep stone in my hand I sling stutter over my shoulder and watch the forever tyrant grow
15/12/2022
#michelangelo#florence#doubt
Ayesha
Written by
Ayesha
21/F/Pakistan
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
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