Your face is the palate that my heart paints from
these colorations, in striking heartfelt revelations,
from the blushes that rush, ebb and flow,
the swifts but subtle muscularities in movement
altering the makes of reflected composure,
the flarings and blinks, winces and tilts,
as with the facial balance of pitch, yaw and roll.
Your fabric of hair, gravity drawn and gravity defiant.
The captivation of eyes, your eyes,
as truly binding and reliant.
And I am the canvass of being as deliverance.
That countenance which touches me
is by the ethers of our chemistry
and the electricity between us as those bristles,
to the heartfelt side of invisible or so it seems,
since the pooling of your portrayal on me
is non-evident but persuasive.
Funny that canvass of me, by this means, never dries.
Gives no hard and fast surface to my composition.
I shimmer as if streaming yet is an honoring reflection.
Your face, in so many ways, addressing me . . .
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