Art

I see a crumpled note strewn on the bed.

Paper grasped into a fist

or is it your skin?

 

ivory delights me, it's dangerous

how that ethereal glow

entices me to make unholy that flawless white

with veins of black ink.

 

poems and letters

are bubbling up and cluttering your body;

a monochrome mess.

 

I must open you 

(even frantically)

to smooth out the creases, and

cover over those words.

Cover you.

 

Your body is my canvas

but these mistakes go more than skin deep.

Can I wash them away?

Scratch?

Tear?

Oh darling, I am turning it red.