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