Away from the prying moon,
you smiled and stole the sunset glow.
My fingers flutter to grasp
your silver breath in slender wisps
as they wrapped themselves lazily
around the baleful clouds.

I'd feed you the stars but my
compliments always fall
wayside

The skies are a strangest hue and
my lips are blue
or maybe purple.

A sunny headache in my mouth; I'm choosing
a lover, a model,
a breathtaking disaster
who steals the water colors from my pictures,

turning my palettes to cinders and ash.
Colors no longer mean a thing

when you're around.
The liquid duochromes bleed into canvas
a perfect moment,
a perfect candid moment.

People rave, not seeing,
the beauty that the shadows withhold,
not comprehending,
my muse, my inspiration, my bowl of fruit,
my flaming ace and flaring ache.