A landscape, untainted by thoughts that have ever felt wholeness.
I hear you begging a song from whittled lips on quiet Thursdays.
I’ll name you Eve.

And I shall paint your vulnerability in the corners of your strength,
find you where you refuse to hide.

Oh darling, sweetie, dear,
I’ll write you into eyes and body,
Sing you into touch and sound,

And they will all stand and stare and say,
“Isn’t she so beautiful?
I could just stare forever.”

A renaissance of your love.
Let me paint you, dear,
Naked, dear,

Skin upon empty.
Rose upon cheeks.
Paintbrush upon you.

A woman, a landscape.
Your curves, my mountains,
Your tears, my sea.

Aren’t you just so beautiful?
In my beholding eye.