the writer was always in love
with the artist.
the writer was patient, kind, and steady
the writer wrote about the artist.
the artist was freer:
long dark hair and a playful side smile
bright blue eyes always with a hint of anger.
sometimes the artist would work topless.
that much skin made the writer
forget to write.
the writer craved the heat offered
by the artist’s quick mind
gentle hands
and questionable lack of knowing when to bite their tongue
the artist needed the stability
the calm coolness
of the writers thought process.
the way the writer spoke with
intention and importance,
innocently commanding the company
together they were a fissure of
maybes
of friendly questions from friends
asking the name on the packaging
of their union
confused by the joy caused by confusion
the writer didn’t have answers.
many short stories
poems here and there,
the outline of a novel.
The writer was always in love
with the artist
the artist made art.
