Why, jesus christ, why
would I stare blankly at these ceilings,
at these paintings
on these walls,
when I knew damn well
that your eyes held the most
beautiful colours of all?
Why should I stare at this work of art?
When I know fine well that I
could be wandering through your soul,
which has much more colour than
an art museum could ever
possess?
YOU ARE READING
Roses for Him
PoetryA selection of love notes I wrote about boys who made flowers as well as thorns grow in my mind, heart and soul.
