“I’m A Chameleon, You’re A Klimt Painting”

Darling, we’re back to the beginning:
You’re elegant and kind,
I’m still learning how to waste my time
Without crying;
I’m trying to survive
My allergy to smiles
But time’s up.

Darling, have you read my new pamphlet
On how to give up meth
Committing to the heartbreaks and fads?
‘Cause hiding, in a footnote near the end,
I scribbled your last name…
That’s so lame.

Darling, we’re oil and acrylic:
You’re brushstroked on a canvas,
I’m spilled all over clay ashtrays.
It’s kinda shitty the orthodox conception
Of the time we witness flowing:

It looks like, sometimes,
A weekend lasts a second,
A mile feels like a planet;
I’m still trying to close the distance
Without moving
‘Cause a masterpiece like you
Belongs to a very distant museum.

I’m a compass and you’re the North
That I can’t help but chase forever,
Well, until this metaphorical vessel crashes
On your golden shores
And I’m the last spoon of sugar
In the glass of lemonade you sip
By your skylight pane;
I’m blending my palette to be like you.
If only…

Darling, I’m driving from the backseat
To stay drenched in your scent.
I still gotta take a full step back
To fully enjoy your blinding pattern,
The jet-black avalanche of your hair.

Darling, Orion’s belt’s the ceiling
As we’re starving to death
In the weak attempt to untie our bodies.
Your bi-dimensional warmth,
Stolen from a novel,
Kills me.
I’ve been doodling our names
On every page of the dictionaries
I could find
To broaden, maybe clarify,
The vague definition of love
For all of the aeons I’d spend
Waiting for you
Will never be enough to explain
Or define
The wondrous chemical reaction
You trigger in me.

Photo by George Lebada on Pexels.com


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