Something Unheard

him - my muse

I left early.

but for methe night is over.

I return to my studio,

and I've found my muse

once again.

This time, she comes in a vision

of you.

You and your

tattooed wrist,

your shamrock

green eyes,

your awkwardness

in the shimmery,

princess-like dress

and the slimness of your fingers

that are fit for drum playing.

I set up my easel,

and splatter the paint

until the image

in my mind is printed and oiled

on the previously

white canvas before me.

You are striking,

and your eyes stare out at me as though

you search for me alone

despite the probability

that we will never

see eachother again.