Stroke of Genius

It's like being ripped from a blank canvas into a Matisse. Each moment with you painting a brighter, bolder stroke than the next. Every color moving something deeper inside me. Its composition, staggering.

It's always been beautiful and messy and vaguely familiar, but this time its painting me from the inside out in ways I cannot hide. I'm slinging magenta from my fingertips.

In the end though I'm not sure if what we have created is a masterpiece or a reprint of the same original.

And that thought is not a happy one for a starving artist like me.

to live and breathe for something you cannot see, is love

i remember your lips
still plump and pink

as i bite the bottom of my lip, in excess
because i cannot feel yours on mine

the pain of this bite is real
the memory of your kiss is not

how unfair
that i prefer the pain of this reality
to the blissful bites of memory