I know these are artist's hands
Ran over their lines and calluses many times
Loved them in more lifetimes than you could prove
Still, the thought is sweet
It counts, like the number of seconds until we part
You, blissful
Me, waiting
No one needs to know how I swirl over my edges by my dreamless hand
What is art
But a labour of love?
YOU ARE READING
Oeuvre & Oeuvre Again
PoetryA collection of poems for working out the fog in my mind and about my characters ♡♡
