on morning one when sunlight spoke
an unfamiliar place i woke
and my arms and limbs, all lines so faint
crudely sketched in paint
red, blood red, wall overhead
this work of art, this lover’s bed
his pictures hung; the splattered marks
as the curator, she starts…
“oh him? he was sweet.
now he’s layers underneath.
our ink is forever.”
she lied through her teeth.
love it grew from a simple crush
as colors saturate the brush
blue for honor and gold for the truth
the artist’s final touch
time, gray time, it warped shapes
the canvas frayed and the work replaced
painted over, now all i see is
an envious shade of green
and now she hears me,
from layers underneath,
from cracks in the paint;
the voice while she sleeps