you could paint my portrait but would it picture me?
look at you
cast under lime lights
no prose
no troupe
no rose
the curtains unveiled
it’s revealed to me
in you.
weren’t you a midnight prayer
testing my soft heart?
Weren’t you a debtor to my art?
A credit from where I start?
no more than a picture born
to heal my pain
had you sat down and cried,
had you wept, had you lain?
no more than a mirror in vain,
I had you made up in my mind
every one of your kind
beneath shining eyes lie more to find
beneath skin and bones intertwined
you, my selfish mastermind.
Oh you.
You always said you could paint
my portrait
who were you seeing?


One thought on “portrait

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