phoenix from space

morning dew
on all things
a perfect day
to give away
the soul.
he paints
the sky.
a thousand strokes
of black.
i smoke cigarettes
and watch.
he drinks coffee.
our tongues tied.
a conversation of
undisguised poetry.
the sun
is a charity.
an artist in
uniform motion.
he holds
all things possible.
making me small
on this earth.
alarming colors
of a planet
from a million
more strokes.
he holds each brush
like a child’s hand.
i desire his lips.
the moon hides
in the black.
waiting its time.
waiting on him,
i am happy
i am here.

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