this one's dedicated to my Scott.
If I could kiss your eyes until you see stars and the skies,
could you paint our tomorrow’s until your brush-hand tires?
I would dance through the breeze for you,
(the one I’d command to caress the skin I crave to
breathe in)
I’d hold your hand, giving it firework-sparks
to ignite the same your touch invokes
in me
Hopefully, and wishfully, and dreamfully then,
you’d be able to paint,
what you want the next day to unfold
and inspire in us what we both dare
to dream
I’d dance
(or pose)
until you can’t escape the vision
of the cloud-canvas overcome by the burn-marks of our
tango:
the capture of our tomorrow
and the lipstick stain from the daring little act
that is no longer just an
if
