PoetXArtist

When the poet meets the artists 

he'll leave her home 

with watercolor stories across his neck

 as if he was decorated with everything 

he wished to give her 

so don't be surprised 

when you mistaken hickies 

for mini galaxies filled with the stars.

 Don't mistake them for acrylic 

, romance doesn't peel away 

just because you find it under your fingernails

 or a not so "Starry Night." 

It holds more of that 

pseudo everlasting appeal of oil. 

Damn will this love ever rot away

When she stays late 

he'll put away his pen

 and treat her inner thighs 

like canvas and strokes away a waterfall. 

Claude Monet aint even have a brush stroke that soft. 

He'll like it there 

nearly drowning in her essence.

 His lips and her lips 

Collapsing the same way he made her walls

When its said and done 

Or should I say written and drawn out.