PoetXArtist
When the poet meets the artists
he'll leave her home
with watercolor stories across his neck
as if he was decorated with everything
he wished to give her
so don't be surprised
when you mistaken hickies
for mini galaxies filled with the stars.
Don't mistake them for acrylic
, romance doesn't peel away
just because you find it under your fingernails
or a not so "Starry Night."
It holds more of that
pseudo everlasting appeal of oil.
Damn will this love ever rot away
When she stays late
he'll put away his pen
and treat her inner thighs
like canvas and strokes away a waterfall.
Claude Monet aint even have a brush stroke that soft.
He'll like it there
nearly drowning in her essence.
His lips and her lips
Collapsing the same way he made her walls
When its said and done
Or should I say written and drawn out.