My hands trace your skin,
miles last only seconds.
Bursting from each pore,
Intoxicating aromatics beckon.
A reckoning,
a realization.

Longing for completion,
I’m a traveler on the estuaries of your canvas
Each stroke an adhesion
With every breath,
a confession
Time ceases, you—
my obsession.

Our bodies sealed eternally,
An enthralling finale.

some nights I wish you'd
just knock — it's not just my door
I'll let you in through

Warm bourbon bottle company
I won't need you anymore
Once the last drop is emptied
Ill sing myself a song of sadness
And fall asleep right where you left me

In front of my eyes is a white ceiling, plain and smooth,
and I can hear my chest pounding.
I can feel my lungs breathing--inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
Then there are tugging, swinging, running---
back and forth and back and forth.
Where did it come from?
I have no clue.
White ceiling, is it all you?

I'm scared that I will love you forever …

Up in the attic
With my paints
And my rage
I was the canvas
Filled with color

Splats of red
I needed to
How else could I symbolize you?

Blue and orange
And purple and green
All trying you make sense of me

Little hints of yellow
For even then
When I could forget
I could experience momentary joy

I was that canvas
Because yes,
My head is overwhelming
And crazy
And angry
But it can also be beautiful

I was that canvas,
Abstract
And messy
Which some say isn't even art
And some say is wonderful

I was was that canvas

But wait
...
Wasn't I also the painter?