between lost lovers, between stylized flowers
So I paint you with sudden strokes, it feels like a lifetime
Completing you with me. It must be a holy sign,
It must have been radiant water, radiant earth
That gave birth to you and me, the way we fall
In each other, get born again, to worship the ground that you walk on.
To look at grace, to look at the outside world losing face,
To see faith becoming you, stretching itself across your canvas, so lavishly, the indecisive one
We paint, like mile-wide fisherman’s clothes shivering,
Like salty sun-kissed wind.
To look at you sketching painted pink and stretching green,
While I rise out from beneath you, looking
At you on the breeze-covered coast, just at the point where dawn breaks, it’s as if
Your skin is bathed with silver, there’s dark green and white hanging
Out your back, the image of tranquility, the perfect peace I have known.
It gets darker.
I call you silently, you are dusky skin and you are glowing, glamorous
rise from your stillness, sprawled across a low, white bed
across sullen waters. The kind you love, the nothing we need
to be all day.
the series you etch, it’s on frozen glass,
I watch you silently, rising like a sea creature long thought gone.
calling out to you, the fog horn, the sigh that makes you come.
This incredible feeling today, this soaring of the wind as I rise for you from inside this sparkling ocean
I could swim to the surface and see you translucent, blurry, and I could
Wash my lungs with air, not knowing what would poison me
I could die with it and I could die in your arms,
Glistening silver in the dark. I could die, and I would search for you the next lifetime,
all the same. It’s all the same to me.
Divine and timeless,
the search would go on, the echoes of dead stars and bright scars
Following endlessly. Sun after sun would revolve back and forth.
The warmth of watching your intensity, the gifts of life after life, building together,
Body parts vibrating rapidly, feeling this experience, like logs of raft tied together.
And so we are.
(poem by: last minutes light, sketch: she who must not be named :P)
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE!!
1 comments:
oh......good, great god.
I wanted to brush my hands through her hair and feel how it must be touched, and I wanted to see if your colors are draining on them.
The one who wrote the poem shouldn't have been mentioned too. It was written a long while ago, with no idea it would turn into something as haunting as this. His curly hair (oh, the curly strokes) and her straight hair intertwine so perfectly, and the kiss looks like it dropped straight from heaven. Her hair... she's a beauty, by the way. Can they keep kissing forever? They are, right? With no memory of a beginning, and no hope of an end? The way they hold each other, and the way you haven't finished their bodies is breathtaking.
Words can only be as sensual as you can make them, but the figures... this sketch took sensuality somewhere else together. And the pink, purple and green they are drenched in, and the flowers. The bold, black strokes stand so beautifully against the background universe. This is lush and grand at all levels, and yet meticulously you. Yup... it is. Stringing together with thoughs of this being in Ireland, near or next to a grass farmhouse, with the loveliest weather in the world and nothing to do but kiss. I have no idea how to talk about texture, but ..... okay, remember drone post-rock? Your background is a bit like that, thick walls of drench coat paint coat raining through, no idea where they are coming from. Your sketch's a thick, raining symphony made from tiny, detailed moments of love and skin and moist senses and colors being held together.
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