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i hope someday you'll let me fully illustrate what exactly it is you make me feel, and that you'll let one of the multitudes of my brushes feel over the eased slope of your back as you lie propped upon your belly just to look over your shoulder at me with one eye kept closed, all small hums uttered with a smile accompanied with no absolute words. i won't promise you'll be able to understand why certain swirls of paint are made during fixed areas of you, or why they're placed exactly where they are. i won't promise you'll be able to detect what everything means, and why there's a kind of soothe you'll retain that'll be sat cradled in your chest when i do delineate over each and every figure made, never forgetting the haphazard splatters of color nor will i let myself promise to let it be known that even just a mellow depiction will subdue any kind of doubt i have over how i'm not possibly doing a thing right when it comes in terms to this form of expression, and if it'll do you or the feeling any justice, for all i'll be doing is yielded by everything i am to experience during said moment. i'll be unwinded, innate, and driven by you — too intoxicated to even begin to tell you why i am the way i am, and why this is how i'm going about with showing how attempting to paint on you are my emotions in display surrounding just you, you, you.
