paper thin skin
the artist’s eye is drawn
moth to a flame
but darling, paper burns
fragile, the softest ashes
they say “it always ends like this”
porcelain quivers
artist’s eyes, closed lids
flicker, just minutes more
please, just one last kiss
tears wet the cracks
and salt your drying lips
this loss, feel it endlessly
let me taste you one last time
something to savour,
to agonise the mind