Angelic Procreation

The cuts open once again, As she reaches to mix the blue with green, The arch of her back- Curve of her neck, Possibly the most angelic thing, He has ever seen. She whispers a beckon, For him to touch her. He narrates as his lips, Slowly graze her shoulder. She holds his arm straight, As the brush hits the paper, She admires his furrowed brow, It’s the most intense thing- She has ever seen. When the colors mix together, Just right, The simplest of tasks, Can take every bit of might, The easiest of words, Can get stuck in your throat, The over whelming emotion, Has desire to show. While they paint love, His eyes whisper to her, That he will have to go. Even though it burns, She has always known. She guides his hand, One more time. One last time. To the spot both of the know, In the middle of the canvas, Right at the heart, Where both of them call home. When the colors mix together, Just right, The bluest of blues, Pathetically turns white. You can’t do anything to change it, It's just how we are. Love can leave as easily as you come, One more brush and a whisper, And you both are done.