I want to see art
without contacts in;

let it be blurry
until I move within 3 inches,
letting my nose graze the texture

I want you behind me,
still holding my right hand
touching the painting with my left

it starts to snow inside,
little flecks sticking

you wipe an eyelash from my face,
stop to make a wish,
then blow it from your fingertips

we will not be frozen
from the snow;

for we have the heat of art
sticking to our exposed ribs
as inspiration mingles
through the air.

08/25/2005

Posted on 08/26/2005
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