Muse and the Painter

I spray a fizz of red,

the canvas becomes a pool

of blood, the essence of lilies,

the spirit of sacrifices, the hunger

for power, the ravishing romance.

But I paint you, and you are my

Muse.

 

I pour a pint of blue,

the canvas seems like the

endless sky, the tormented ocean,

the sweet blueberries’ juice, the

sparkle of sapphires, the depth of

her eyes, yet I just paint you;

and you are my Muse.

 

You fleet through my senses,

you surge through my blood,

you capture my mind

and ensnare my heart.

You are my Muse and

I am your Painter and

so we stand reflected within

each other, through a veil of glass.

Tangled

“Maybe we’re all part of the same unconscious stew, dreaming the same dreams, hoping the same hopes, needing the same connection, trying to find it, missing, trying again—each of us playing our parts in the other’s plots, just one big ball of human yarn tangled up together. Maybe this is it.”
― Libba Bray