In English,
we’re learning about
Winston and Julia
in 1984, but
it’s 2017
all I want to study is
you.

I want to study less
about the
control and freedom
Big Brother has
and more about
the calculation of your
moves.

I want to study the way
your knuckles could be an
infant’s home, small
hands reaching out
longing for you
or the way the veins in
your arm makes abstract art,
beautiful enough to be showcased
in any gallery.

I understand now why they say
“as pretty as a painting.” Because
you’re as timeless and
breathtaking as
Mona Lisa.

And your blue iris's,
swirl with dark and light
tones with a slight
a golden glint,
I could stare into them for longer
than any
Starry Night.

Maybe,
I’m just better suited to an art class.
I want to learn the primaries
so I can swirl them all together and
get your dark brown hair.
I want to add the most expensive
white, so I can paint the
faint freckles on your nose and

I want to mix blue and red adding water
until the colour is a perfect match
for the faintest birthmark
on your shoulder.

Instead of the History of Russia,
I want to learn the History
of you.
I want to learn what makes you smile
and what makes you cry.

I want to study you,  
I use each brush stroke to
perfect your skin,
each pen writes down
notes until
I have a whole book
full of each heartbreak,
so I can learn a lesson
in you.