art gallery

your body is a vessel of stories

swimming under your skin.

I think of libraries and strong

coffee when I think of you.

but as much as you're the coffee's

froth, you're sweet coconut water too.

you're the monument visit on a Wednesday,

'me-time' bathtub on a Sunday.

you are polo t-shirts

and hiccupping giggles on the sidewalk,

an autumn leaf tap-dancing on a snowflake.

I have seen you happy

but I haven't seen you hurt.

I think you'll hurt in lavender skin

and 2:00 am poetry.

hurting is not pretty but you are.

you are so beautiful,

a tough competition to the morning sky,

a clear winner among all the flowers in my garden.

I don't know if you're broken, we all are a little bit

cracked hearts do not screech, they sing.

you sing too but your songs do not

stem from smoked ribcages.

your songs are deep dewy feelings

and whirlpools in my stomach.

you carry an aquarium soul

all fish in your mind.

and you, you walk in colors.

there are so many tunes and so

many words and countless tales,

you can register yourself

as an art gallery.

and I,

I would visit you every day.