you stole my heart with music
playing in the background
while you danced around
flicking paint upon the canvas
as I sat and ate my breakfast
on a warm morning in July
your artwork always made me cry
a beauty I had never seen
while you worked in faded jeans

     then one day you were gone
     no paint, nor sun, nor growing song
     I wondered if I had always been wrong
     or if you had ever been

          so I picked up pen and paper
          and I began to write a caper
          where a thief with rugged charm
          and a smile that would disarm
          robbed every single gallery
          from San Diego to D.C.
          and left a little rose
          which is how I learned my prose
          but soon the wonder faded
          as I grew way past jaded
          but I swear when you return
          my ink will lose its angry burn
          and I'll paint you a bouquet
          and hope this time you'll stay
          my heart won't lose its nerve
          from my mission, I won't swerve
          I'll write a symphony with my words
          ...the kind that you deserve