Artists Can't Love

You can't squint to observe.
Stand close toward the shade.
These Triangles and Squares.
Make me want to misbehave.

An Exhibit with no frame.
Just left to hang for years.
When all I'm used to are unfinished paintings.
Not dealing with their tears.

And I cant make it out.
Which ever way I look.
Because it all just reminds me.
Of the night our bodies shook.

White Canvasses are starving.
And finding Inspiration, all just seems to much.
But Baby Im an artist.
And I don't get out that much.
To Galleries of whisper.
It's all a critics' choice.
And somehow all I try to say.
Gets lost within my voice.

Some things are hard to picture.
Others harder to do.
But what I find quiet easy.
Is finding love.
For you.