A CANVAS CONCEIVED

You stole a glance, cheated its pockets and slid
swiftly between the lines below my eyes, there you
nestled, easing your legs to full extension. Your eyes
waned heavily as a moon’s, drifting slowly to crescent
eclipse, to be born anew as they swallowed
the sun of my eyes. From your distance, rubbing sleep
from my eyes, your fingers, scanned my cheeks as a brush,
painting roses’ tender maze of petals. Your brush dipped
again, strokes of cornflower blue, which faded to brown
as they dried in my eyes. Our canvas aged—paint-dried--
poked as rifts of mountain ranges, fading steadily
to the canvas edge and wooden frame. As you relinquish
you position, easing gently below my eyes,
I drift between dream, aloft on your breath…

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