Pencil in hand
he creates our future
in broad strokes.
An abstract image in mind,
he designs our bedsheets
with each touch.
Lead to paper
each hush of the lines
is him saying "I love you"
too much.
One design on white
are his eyes meeting mine
each morning.
His palm resting briefly
on the page, to gather ideas
is every embrace I'll live
in his arms.
Fingers aching for a pencil
are each moment he'll never have
to miss me.
Every turn of his page
to reach a blank canvas
is me reminding him
"I love you, too."
No comments:
Post a Comment