Colors that bleed never truly blend- I knew this so I dialed it back  a bit-  only hoping  to catch you in passing.

Has your bones ever ached for home?

Some how I have become the tune to that old song you used to love. I'm a painting admired from a far, you know, the one you speak fondly of, but never really spare the dime to buy.  I am the  muse appreciated best behind closed doors and forgotten success.
You leash me as a dog begging for love settling for scrapes. My heart holds hope, but my mind  catches  fire. Angry and outraged by my inability to call *******. As a queen wears no collar, let alone leash to be walked about.
You know what you are... you're are a meal to salty... and popcorn popped a second to long. You are a mirage, all bluff , mistruth. You gain confidence in the undiluted love of others.
See I figured you out, you bait with live heart, only to reel in with broken promises
Shame on my heart for loving you despite warning. Shame on my hands for holding you with such care. And shame on mind for writing yet  another piece with you laced in it.

There are some thoughts, moods, and songs I  save only for you.
Like Etta’s  At Last. I picture our first dance... dancing in the moonlight. Making love to the tilt of the sun. And bathing in the flicker of candle and  laughter.  My hopes and dreams are etched in shadows, as if God Himself were asking me to wait. To wait for the man, that shapes and curves the landscape for walking. Builds rhythm and cadence with the beat of his heart.  And lives life half best with me tucked in his hold.