Dry As A Bone

Imagine an oil stroke on a virgin canvass an image coaxed out by a velvet hand pas de deux artist and brush here comes the wind and suddenly, I appear out of nowhere Imagine my memories invisible as air a non violate kiss somewhere out there here comes the image, of a two step process, the artist and I wonderfully etched, I pop up; Imagine my visage, aging flower of old existing in a turbulent rotation eyes of a cougar, soul of a lion I am Virginia Woolf the writer like a binding book I appear pressed Continued survival on a canvass of dry, parched as a stone in a pocket, alone...