Lovers are not art

Lovers are not art.

You should not pour yourself into a lover

by painted brushstrokes with remnants of your soul.

Ashtray of thoughts and discarded emotions smoldering

on the floor next to the drying canvas.

​

You should not get lost in a lover.

A trance from music written with not your hand

but the strings of your heart, notes escaping wildly

untamed filled with echoing fortissimos that shake

the room awake from a deep rumbling slumber.

​

You should not bury yourself in a lover

through the weeds of words that bloom beneath

your feet, sprouting their budding flowers in perfect rhythm

with the roar of your breath. A sound that both rips

and expands your body, engaging all the senses.

​

You are art.

Every cell of your body begs you to give yourself to art.

To spill every word, feeling, sound into art.

So that after a long day in the studio

concocting artworks made from your very stardust,

flavors of drink that haven’t been tasted yet,

you can have a break with your lover.

​

Sipping wine on a silver-lined roof

gleaming stars illuminated above you,

your lover’s eyes locked with yours.

And looking into them you’ll see yourself

reflected back, revealing your starstruck gaze

filled to the brim with intensity and passion.

An elixir you can share but belongs to you

and the artwork you birthed because of it.

​

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