I fell in love with a paintbrush
Not the painter
Perhaps even the canvas blank or filled
It could have been the way the colors dabbled with each other,
Call it symphony
Maybe each bristle,
created euphony with one foul stroke
Perhaps it was the paints potency,
Perhaps it left a mark on my heart
Whether Desired or undesired is to be determined
The paintbrush knew what it wanted
A muse more than anything
Something magnetic, something you can’t keep your eyes off of
But you wouldn’t want  to anyways
A muse meant to amaze
And upon first gaze turns melancholy to haze.
Left said artist in a daze
Claimed it’s their work to be appraised
And my heart to be  glazed over
Heart hung out to dry with no closure
Left dripping wet lost all composure
I do believe dear brush’s time is over
Though what’s said  is not meant for exposure
I fell In love with the paintbrush
Not the painter