Watercolors on straphmore are never enough when
I want more.
More of you -
of your hands on my lower back,
of hiding from your dog who I affectionately dubbed "baby monster",
of only pausing to move my hair from your waist to the cusp of my ear
(you never acknowledged when I cut it).
Swirl me in old paint water
searching for cleanliness, clarity,
for chipped paint mugs are where I belong.
Please oh please mix the right shade to
capture my brilliance, blend a hue to
match my deliverance.
Allow me to bleed through on the paper but
never let me bleed out in your arms.
Be delicate with me for the details are
not so pretty, not so easy to cover up.
When you're done frame me in a gallery
worth more than gold but more importantly
frame me in your heart.