If I sketched an angel without wings would you be able to tell she’s an angel? The sky behind her would be pale yellow The world below, gray Like the color of the outline of her frame I’d describe her face as angelic Which is supposed to give it away But maybe you’d only say she looks nice
I lay down your creamy expanse unto the marble surface, as if milk made love with the stars in the galaxies.
I write you out as pleasant simmer of pulverized charcoal and bloated glycerine.
I splatter and spread fine dusts of Carica in temperate motion to touch the sleek edges of the vanilla branches on your person.
I hold and dip my feathery digit amongst rose water to grasp the flowers that frames your face, like light morganites that hail from the west.
I cast you off as the blue sea engulfs the life from the waters where life swims with stable beginnings and whirlwinds of stories.
I finish you by letting molten pearls lither your dark onyx orbs, surrounded by your lakes of gelatinous almond, like shooting comets finding rest on land, as lightning's faint and close but never quite touch.
I made you with intrinsic detail and rawness to give you the life that you may never have.
may these words show its own form of art.
090219; 07:29 --- revison due to incompleteness from original file
my bones stick out so much I should feel good like fat like privilege and power but these things are fleeting like my body like the conversion I had with you I never meant to bring up semi truck cabs artist’s sketch tables I only meant to move you into the city like a good friend like a walk in the park or a trust fall into the pool blues I say this is the strife they sing about and everyone loves it and eats it with peanuts allergies? no thank you. green smoothies? no thank you. a good morning text? well, maybe if I still like you if I can still stand to be in the same room with myself to go bowling to go on hikes to meditate all these things I hate and my bones they’re smooth and splinter when bitten and my bones they glow like uranium in the mirror good morning blow good morning blush good morning white boy good morning, Andrew
this is my excavation to the days coming along running hands with laughter throwing it down on the table straight flush okay, cool
sister, these things don’t matter when we’re twisting into the sun with pants that are too short the fountain rich with iced chai tangled with the peculiar the beautiful through these moments I commend our hearts for finding each other
love is always on the move as sure as shoe shine as mahogany like timidity to relinquish to let the universe take hold and instill this emotion into my body fit it all in my heart O, singer of love fit it all in my heart the knell the reverberation the cotton that lands on your hair the sunscreen stuck in my ear
we are a sketch of two travelers sleeping under stars the fire finally dies down the rapture of the universe is overwhelming everything flows everyone is connected and this music we hear is constant like gentle waters falling
this too, sister makes my cane solemn and I draw you in the sand only to watch the tide wash you next to me the emotion wrangled in English simply means good simply means a full listen and dear sister because everything begins and will be remembered always as love
meaning I can hear you anchor that holds us down a second I lost you complete fire pierced meaning I am light a flotation of end a memory of when I was four a rise and you the nebula in which I speck meaning a fullness an overflow a mist of brown and wave the hand which I have writ the looseness of your outline meaning all the sheets smooth and cupped the ribbons around the slight chip rainbow meaning the sketch and you a prayer I break