Sketching the picture Of what you should be
She writes your story; Washes the erasure
With tears of clearness. You don’t have to make
Promise or to fake Some sort of weakness
She’s not waiting for A song of your own,
She’s already drawn Outline and color
Behind her eyelids. An eyelash blinking
Paints your main feeling; On this dream, she feeds,
Drinks in the source of Imagination
Holy illusion For a moment off,
Lying on your shade She can, through the fear,
Close her eyes and hear Melodies she made.
No need of your arm To heat her body
Just the memory Makes her shoulder warm.
The taste of your lip Caress of your keen
Fingers on her skin Started her art trip.
But if you care, do Burn the false painting,
Don’t let her sinking In love without you.
