The wall that seperates our home
Was as thick as the callouses on my fingers,
But I could hear every brush stroke
That he made on his canvas.

With every flick of his wrist,
a new image begins to build.
With every breathe that he took,
breaths of love and passion.

I can see in high quality definition
The looks on the spectator's faces,
As they admire your colors
On the wall beside the colors you once admired.