Every moment I miss your offerings,
every moment I don’t comment
or reply to your presence,
I bleed and weaken so.
Every time I feed upon your creations,
bathe in your evocative pieces,
my chest is filled with pulsating blood,
my skin crawls with the thoughts
of holographic emotions.
Like a vampire
tapping into the veins of poetry lyrical
and art imprinted on soulful canvas,
I am revitalized,
energized,
electrified.
Every drop of ink,
every stroke of paint,
every image evolved from a curious mind
is a source of wonderment,
nourishment,
illumination.
Although not always expressed,
my love,
my desire,
transcends the solid matter that binds within,
floats beyond gravitational hold
that planets and stars cycle
their aged worn paths,
and molecular weight governed by natural law,
is blown asunder
to scatter and explore new horizons.
I don’t forget,
always there,
sometimes silent,
hungry eyes scanning your curves
to form a picture for memory’s delight,
sometimes with a voice
cracking the glass
for my own mercurial thoughts
to burst through fingertips dripping ink.
Such is the power of art,
to dip one’s fingers into that pool,
break the surface
and go beyond one’s own reflection,
to splash one’s face with the many hues
and intonations
of my fellow explorers,
and become more than one can ever hope for.
A simple thank you
can echo beyond the boundaries of time,
but the embrace of artists is a vision
the very deities themselves
hold with envious sight.
Yes,
I am intoxicated,
drunk with the mysteries of life,
and you
who dance upon my lips and eyes
and write upon my skin
are the first I let in.
What more could I ask for?