unlit matches

the artist and their masterpiece

i traced your hands
with a paintbrush

and the colours melted
onto the paper.

i do not know
if art can capture
all your intricacies

but i know i'll try my best.

it makes me laugh
to think
that you could
hold a pose

and people
would say,
"what a divine
marble statue that is"

there are no cracks
in your figure;

you hold yourself with pride.

your porcelain frame
makes me want to weep,

i bet you're even
beautiful when you cry.

but you're not on display
in a museum,
no.

we're not in an
art exhibition
show.

it is only you
and i

in this room
of paint fumes
and charcoal rubbings.

you are the muse,
i am the humble artist.