Jan 2015
It's times like these I wish you could see me work so I could stare at that smile that I love so dearly, but it's alright that you can't be here since I know you're busy and besides, I can still envision your image so clearly.
It started with that smile, those gleaming teeth which sought to keep me infatuated for a while.
Then it moved on to your eyes, the twinkling sapphire treasures which cannot escape my visage despite so many tries.
Slowly it became your face, with every glance it was quite apparent that your looks were blessed with every charm and grace.
My brush quickly moved onto your gracious golden locks of hair, untamed yet silky and unbelievably fair.
Next it came to include your neck, coupled with your head it would be a wondrous bust perfectly chiseled and shined to be free of any blemishing speck .
Outlining your ******* and your shoulders, you'd be mistaken for the fair Helen whose famed looks were fought over between Greek and Troy soldiers.
Brushing in your stomach and hips, the beauty of your image arouses and I cannot stop the involuntary quiver of my lips.
Strokes which create in my composition your arms and your hands, there's an unveiling of beauty like winds uncovering a pyramid hidden in the sands.
I pay special attention to drawing in your well- formed thighs, your slender legs, capturing the natural attractiveness of your delicate feet; myself as the artist witnessing the creation of a masterpiece ready to be unveiled to the world, and for myself reserved the very best seat.
A deep breath, a last stroke, a moment to regain composure.
My heart a drum, my hands made of cement, my eyes shutters that won't open, and my mind not ready for closure.
The thought of you is unbearable, I'm in a panic and I dip my brush in the darkest shade of red.
Enlightened by your love yet scarred by your memory, doting upon all the questions unanswered and the words I should have said.
Nights like these, where my body is limp and my head becomes heavy with fear and dread.
I slash this blood red across you with tears in my eyes and a delirium to submit to.
It's times like these I wish you weren't dead.
It started with that smile, those gleaming teeth which sought to keep me infatuated for a while.
Then it moved on to your eyes, the twinkling sapphire treasures which cannot escape my visage despite so many tries.
Slowly it became your face, with every glance it was quite apparent that your looks were blessed with every charm and grace.
My brush quickly moved onto your gracious golden locks of hair, untamed yet silky and unbelievably fair.
Next it came to include your neck, coupled with your head it would be a wondrous bust perfectly chiseled and shined to be free of any blemishing speck .
Outlining your ******* and your shoulders, you'd be mistaken for the fair Helen whose famed looks were fought over between Greek and Troy soldiers.
Brushing in your stomach and hips, the beauty of your image arouses and I cannot stop the involuntary quiver of my lips.
Strokes which create in my composition your arms and your hands, there's an unveiling of beauty like winds uncovering a pyramid hidden in the sands.
I pay special attention to drawing in your well- formed thighs, your slender legs, capturing the natural attractiveness of your delicate feet; myself as the artist witnessing the creation of a masterpiece ready to be unveiled to the world, and for myself reserved the very best seat.
A deep breath, a last stroke, a moment to regain composure.
My heart a drum, my hands made of cement, my eyes shutters that won't open, and my mind not ready for closure.
The thought of you is unbearable, I'm in a panic and I dip my brush in the darkest shade of red.
Enlightened by your love yet scarred by your memory, doting upon all the questions unanswered and the words I should have said.
Nights like these, where my body is limp and my head becomes heavy with fear and dread.
I slash this blood red across you with tears in my eyes and a delirium to submit to.
It's times like these I wish you weren't dead.
