I feel there are pieces of you streaked across my fingers
Leading bloodless trails to my heart.
An invisible reflection of the colorful smudges that linger,
Oily traces of my art.
The stroke of your brush across my mind
Leaves a broken jagged colorful
Yet swift and sure implied line
My paint was already thickly laid down,
But the path of your hand
Brought buried unseen colors to the foreground.
Blending my subtle tones with a brand new vibrant hue,
I realize there is an element to my design that I had not seen before
I realize it is you.
I step back to take a breath, to take the pieces in as a whole.
And the words of a master echo, do not capture the body capture the soul.
My hand hovers for a frozen moment over slippery wet paint,
Do I leave the colors bright, or blend them faint?
Or do I close my eyes and let the beauty of the unfinished linger on my tongue,
For truth be told,
Once a stroke is made
It can not be undone.