Today’s prompt was to write a portrait of someone close, and well, my best friend is whom I’m closest too. This was pretty hard to do – surprisingly so.
I did her no justice.
“The Artist I Know”
Carefully we’d ready it all, the pens and palettes
She was methodical and fluid, eager and jaded.
Blank, only momentarily, the canvas is sized,
I’ve only lost days to how our time flies
While we spoke about everything life offered,
But between the words and pictures, a quick break.
We’d met in some sort of dream-
She carried shadows in her wrists
And so did I, so did I, little butterflies.
In time, midnight became our favorite time to meet-
Sore joints and fingers stained by our everything,
But eventually it must all end to begin again.
On the porch with hot tea in tired hands.
It’s raining, all falling, cool wind kisses
Us as we sit, talking and quiet, worrying
What will happen when it ultimately ends.
A dream only lasts if you never wake,
And we both know we’ll wake again.
I’m yawning, she’s drawing.
It’s almost 5 am, and it’s hard not to give in.
The rain does not stop, her eyes do not stop.
The porch light shows us how to see, while the sun
Barely begins to ascend, it’s just starting to peek
Across the horizon, it’s sizing us up- the weak.
There are shadows in our wrists and we know,
The Sun knows. We’ll have to part soon.
Smoke escapes from her lips and drapes the air,
Fresh, rainy air – the drops reflect perfectly
In her eyes, a flawless contrast is shown, she is
Watching, I am watching too, as the drops fail to fly.