you had a certain appreciation for artistic pieces and a flair for crafting blue-black beauties you looked at me and saw a blemished canvas you said, "ah, potential for abstract art"
"thanks. let's take it slow" so you led me by the hand and laid flitting kisses marking spots your fingers next would brush
stage two
blues too jarring and too much black you created art you didn't understand you threw a sheet over me "cover yourself. you're a fright" and with trembling hands dragged out a fresh unblemished canvas
you were too afraid to breathe and I was too ashamed to speak now it's all too unforgiving to think about your hands you can't bring yourself to touch me and I can't look you in the eye
you carried on with your masterpieces while I stayed hidden under that sheet I've heard it said nobody likes to look at their mistakes
stage three*
I don't see him anymore
I think about how we smothered the best of us in apprehension, heat, regrets and if I had to speak to him again I'd feel the same shame
never thinking, acting by instinct like wild animals on a summer evening it was an exciting picture its undoing was it had little meaning
and now we carry our shame in different ways he carves crosses into his veins, I bury bruises he carefully laid