i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
shimmered
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso's
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
***** ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren't allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could **** in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art
completely
screaming
meaningless
poems
words
endless
passiona­te
words
consumed
by life

These walls cater phony comfort
I'm not sure if it's the bitter black liquids
Or the soothing Sunday jazz?
My stomach is numb from dead weight

Five years
These seats still aren't warm

My hands are hollow
They will never graze the likeness
An innocent's tender skin has to offer

forget the picasso's
the monet's
the da vinci's
even the van gogh's
you're the most beautiful piece of artwork
that anyone will ever get to feast their eyes upon
and you're right here
sitting alone in my private gallery
and all it took to get this masterpiece
was a few late nights
and endless conversation about things that don't matter to anyone else
and then you were mine