He makes art
Not with his hands
But with his eyes
They stroke the canvas of my heart
Back and forth in a rainbow
Colors of life and passion
He plays music
Not with his hands
But with his smile
Drums play whenever he does
Trumpets flare at his walk
He Touches me
Not with his hands
But with his soul
Where I’ve found a resting spot
For these tired bones
He IS art.
-KC