The Empty Canvas

THE EMPTY CANVAS

She watched as his eyes moved across the empty pallet

his mind transfixed on something new

the way he scanned the canvas

was so delicate and brand new

His fingertips delicately danced across the blemished paper

and she pretended it was her skin

she watched what he created

his hand lay so steady

Watching him dream up something

So perfect

So delicate

So beautiful

Every movement of his hand

she felt sweep over her… bring her to life

Only he could see the image

And she was like the wind

No one would receive the message

It was like a special code

Only they could depict

As he strikes his final motion on canvas

He felt the coo of lost words caress over tiny goosebumps that stay at bay,

and she adore his illusions

his fantasies that come out to play

seeing something more

Like words unspoken

Dreams unfinished

A musical instrument

That was once transfixed and never strummed or played

She watched

She admired the gleam that would cross his lips

Like a child at play

That boyish gleam

That rugged jawline

The strength of his frame

The way he looked

and held attention

was something so different … and yet brand new

Hoping that with a brand new day that will forever begin

He never forgets

to listen to the wind

For there is a chance of delicate words

Dance upon his lips

Whispered to him from someone near

To strike a cord

To rush over every fiber of his being

Light him up

Smell a hint of sweet perfume

Dream it up

Fall in love

Or at least try

With each new day

Let him dream up beauty

and feel