The night is a canvas
turbulence, the safflower oil
you were the abyss I fell into;
the echoes beneath the soil.
I have lost my mind
searching for you in the cold, musty dark
I have longed for your touch
the tingling warmth that would deftly heal my scars.
Who are you?
my blemishes fade, my unbearable flaws
stroked away by your brush
I am new, and now I am yours.
Are you van Gogh?
or are you Munch?
my skin quivers; the silver clair de lune
but I will only have you
if you're sweeter than my solitude.
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