Cobalt

I went to sleep last night with the beauty in my ears and your eyes in the only one that matters and woke up this morning with an unparalleled joy. I thought I would shed tears instead of clichely smiling, and I did, and as my own life spread down my cheeks I realized I was mourning the beauty that made me awake every morn. Art is dead. Love is dead. Why am I not? It is all that I live for. I awake with words and images in my mind and your name engraved within my heart, live with a pen and a brush, paint is but my blood. I go to sleep every night, sometimes lacking you in my arms but never in my soul and beautiful noises in my ears. Well I am creating my last piece, the world may not live in art and love but I'll die in it. My tombstone will be a kaleidoscope collage, brightly colored and ironically emotionally immortal, and with my hand aching, I'll dial your number, hand in paralysis. I will fall asleep one last time, not drug induced, sick of the world, but lulled to sleep by your love and beauty God has given you, the art of your breath and the steady music that is your heartbeat.  I will succumb to the cliche that is my life, I will smile and a single tear will fall from my eye. Since only the one can salivate upon its' sorrow. I will whisper old trite sayings hoping you will understand how important you are - to the world.  You are the coming, the new Renaissance, I am the dark years, our final blending brings end and enlightenment. The poetry of your scars and the simplicity of mine, a map only Godot could read and I'm sick of waiting for the dyslexic to get it straight.  Hold my head high, my neck is weak from your lips, bury me close to your bed, so I can approve of your new wife. I will raise your roses with loving care, their thorns will never draw your blood and they'll paint with mine. One more note for me, sing, scream in agony - hold it strong. Sleep tight and wait for my call... this stone needs more blue. Cobalt I think.1