I am a self acclaimed artist.
I think I told you that,
at least mentioned it in passing,
but, some days
my pencil can't even scrawl
your curvy outline on the paper
or sketch the shape
of your sensual lips
and sometimes my pen
can't stain the ink onto
the blue-lined pages I write on
because I can't find
the exact words that fit the lights that
shine in your warm brown eyes
and all my thoughts are insubstantial,
they float on clouds of peeling paint
and fall in thousands of shades;
I think of you in water colours,
dripping and slipping down
the empty pages of my sketchbook
because I'm not able to ever
catch you clearly;
you always seem to get away
YOU ARE READING
Roses, Cherry Vodka & Her Perfume
PoetryA collection of (almost) love poetry inspired by my beautiful and exotic princess of a muse. (Please please please read and leave comments, I need some critics because I wanna give this to her as a present)
