Art

On a foggy morning
I rose with the birds
Only to trace you with my icy fingers.

My myopic eyes could see
Those lashes that hide you
From the world, like curtains
That only I am allowed to draw;
Those teeth that align
Into a bridge of joy
That can effortlessly set my heart
Into a joyous fire of celebration
And victory, because you are mine;
Those fingers that synchronize
So well with mine,
Like a custom-fit, made to measure;
That back that arches
Into a cave of emotions which
I have devoted my life to interpreting;
Those legs that carry the weight
Of a thousand hopes and dreams
That we have seen apart and together;
And those lips that open
To release the voice of my future
And those lips that elope with mine,
Dancing to a symphony we can't hear.

On this foggy morning
I have traced you with my icy fingers--
My masterpiece, my love.