I don't want to paint
without your eyes
all the color runs empty
to the memory of the red pulse
as you showed me your fingertips

My brush hits canvas with no music
no soft-lifting cadence
of your perfect voice.

How your words color me
their memory sweet
falling flowers
that I cannot scoop upwards

My heart hangs an empty show
a requiem for
a lost story

It hopes among the crowded
for one pair of amber eyes
to lock on it, break rules
of composition

this work we did
you said once
and I thought I would fly

Let the paintings stay unfinished
I cannot bear their sad hope
that even now longs
for your finishing touch

-Corbyhawk