You Can Paint What I Cannot Write

I ask you to paint. You, on the other hand want me to write again. But the ink in all my pens has dried and I am left here stranded abandoned Trying to capture with millions and millions of words, what you could easily paint in the stroke of a brush – and when I think of the places we’ve been to and the faces we’ve seen and the conversations whose endings we left thawing in rum and coke glasses I wonder – I wonder. What colors would you use to paint the S I L E N C E? That silence which lingers amidst grins of agreement That silence that screams heartbreak and jealousy And if you were to paint me on the day you were leaving would you have the tears trickling out of my left eye or right eye? And if you were to paint yourself Would you make your chest big enough? - with a rib cage to fit this universe and all the planets in it - and a monumental heart that has welcomed every person it has met Draw my hair – every strand a kite we run with Draw your hands in mine – different dimensions collide at their touch Draw our feet hanging out of white sheets – even the monsters beneath your bed would admire I want to hold you, lullabies I want to see you, rainbows lingering on eyelashes I want to set you free, ukuleles on speeding highways I want to love you, white gowns and church bells You make me feel things all the books in the libraries I have been to have failed to describe.