Blemished with hue

The saddest paint to watch fade is passion,

To see the flickering flames of desire grow tired,

Exhausted from time and thrusts,

The plague of slumber stricken upon hearts,

Impregnated by the sperm of curiosity,

Killed by the chapped lips of death.

 

Every color of desire stood before us,

The brush of our lust dreamed of creating a masterpiece

on the canvas of our bodies,

but you found the style of my strokes too clumsy,

I saw yours too wild,

Both printed imperfections on the picture,

But dressing different defects on the subjects.

 

Today I came to the studio of our bed

And was greeted by your absence,

Caressed by the hands of solitude,

Whispered an explanation from the wraths of silence,

Staring at the space beside me where your brush was once kept,

Body covered in half of a depiction, a cut image

That won’t wash with the water of my tears

Though they fall heavily, scrubbing fiercely at the art,

I’m stained with this paint, the imperfections of this picture. 

Reviews

[Moonflower]

i enjoyed the word play here, the story of two lovers who couldn't make it work..no matter how they tried. There is a lesson here, one of sorrow and beauty, superb.

[Alicia Schroeder]

Very deep. Great strength in this write

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Passion is so intense that it can either bring complete pleasure or organizing pain but always worth walking the line. A powerfully written piece.

[SpokenWord]

A real power peace with the use of art, creativity and then finally mixed with strong feelings of lost love. I love how you described his absence, a missing peace in the picture and how he has stained you. Wonderful work.