⌘ Palette

April 3, 2016

Last night
before sleep,
she drew pictures on my back
with her fingers,
a test of my spacial recognition,
my ability to form
a horse,
a sun,
a sailboat,
from the movement of her fingertip traces
against my skin,
to see it
take shape in my mind’s eye,
invisible palette,

the curvature of my back
competing with her delicate design
of flower,
fish,
smile,
and I cannot guess,
cannot translate the trace to shape,
each time, she erases,
whole palm swipes in the dark,
tries again,
rabbit,
snail,
and I am the worst at this game,
because
just being touched
by the fingertip of an artist,
just having my skin rise to meet her,

all I can picture in these traces
is

Heaven,

Heaven,

Heaven.

 

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