smile.
turn your face to the wind.
let the breeze caress your cheeks.
may it paint a portrait of my soul.
clean the brushes, scrape the palette clean.
the painter will replace the old, dried, and unused.
new colors will emerge;
perhaps a bold magenta or a quiet green seaweed who's only evidence of interaction wraps between my toes.
lean over the cup of water.
a pair of eyes greets me
as a pale forehead wrinkles into perspective.
they say "eyes are the windows to the soul".
my painter.
where art thou?
i look in the cup and you are not there.
i look in the comfort and you are not there.
i search and climb, pull and push.
i turn my head and find you sitting there with me.
sitting in the simple.
listening in the noisy.
loving in the turmoil.
you are there.
continue to let the breeze pursue
and
love
me.
(alex wrote this poem.)
