Latent Heat

Latent Heat Does she know the picture she paints Through a tango of curves Precursors of want without restraint The lines of artists have adorned time with such In praise of this illusive capture And Da Vinci has mourned the brittle brush Can she know the pining pang she caused In his every touch To know how diligent they could tell her more As if he tried to speak through glass And know the weave of silk