His intricate fingers
shadowing your soft cheeks,
and picking apart rainbows
to mix with your eyes.

He studies your lips
and knows exactly what shade,
defining your dimples
and sprinkling on freckles.

Strokes of a dark brush
running from your face,
like a chocolate river
or a wild bear in the woods.

He captures the way
you stand with the moon,
longing to live with the stars
and deny the force that holds you.

He draws the veins on your wrist
like blue broken tree limbs,
with scars that resemble
the night sky.

Shuttering greys
leave with dark shadows,
a landscape full of black;
he portrays you as the sun.