Painter

Oh, my precious painter
you were always so beautiful
with your colorful eyes
and a mess of artistic inspiration
in the heart of your bloodstream

I miss your vulnerable canvas,
your highs and those mysterious lows
and the way we'd sit coolly staring at philosophies,
trying our smartest to read between the lines
over a bottle champagne and sweet strawberries

It doesn't seem that long ago
our lips kissed in fluid brush strokes
and I vividly remember slipping out of my clothes
while you were painting me once
just to see how you'd see me undressed,
I looked as rare as a jewel
your fingers must've seen something
my mirror forgot to believe

On that last night
you whittled my nerves to rest
and I strung our conversations
into an exquisite strand of pearls
that now softly caresses my neck
with a desperate sense of longing
and you so feverishly ask,
if I'm ever poetically inspired by you