A blank canvas
White like the sky outside.
Images of what should be there
Only in my mind.
It's in my fingertips
And every fiber of my being
It's in my hands and my arms
It's in my waist and in my thighs
It's in the light that appears in my eyes
And in the smile only for you.
Those images are everywhere you touched
Including my memories.
It has been six days
And the images are still vibrant
Bursting with life as if they'd just been painted
By your delicate fingers and your soft lips
As if the words were just spoken.
It has been six days
And there are tears on every picture you drew
