artroom.

what is strange to me

is where you exist

i am sure that you

strange being that you are

must reside within these four walls

nourished on the cutting turpentine

that saturates these slow air currents

like blue the sea

you only notice it in its broad expanses

and when scooped close to your hand

it falls as clear as ever

how foolish of me to think that i could carry

you in my spirit away

to this dry arid land that simply reeks

of absolutely nothing at all

except a strange greyness that clings to my fingers

as i hold them to my lips

to blow you a kiss across the miles

across the millions

of wasted feet because they-none of them- know where they are going

and i too am lost letting only

this fragment of soul i stole from you

and hid deep in my memory guide me back

thrusting my eyes into the darkness and out again

through the tunnel time and i'm safe in memory

swinging my legs on that splattered table

waiting for you to stop being art long enough

to still a little more of my heart

that runs too fast with the heat of your skin

i let it run so fast

i let it run away with me

it confused distance with dignity

and hope with impossibilities

you stay for me in that one room

where magic was in the paint

and lessons in the pain