I wish I were an artist, I'd draw his haunting face.
Those deep brown eyes that melt my heart and touch my soul.
The full lips that sneer with sensuality, and mock my vulnerability.
His big, gentle hands that I long to caress my face.
I’d capture his arrogance, his handsomeness, his intelligence…
His spirituality would be hard to sketch, an aura that’s invisible but so present.
Is he evil? Is he good?
Why does he have this affect on me?
So unlike my sensibility
Against my discernment…yet willingly
I listen to his voice…deep, intriguing , masculine
If I could put his face, his hands, his essence, on paper,
Perhaps I could finally erase him from my mind.
His stare could no longer affect me in my dreams.
He would have no longer have a hold on my heart and my desires.
My longings for him would cease to create passion and sadness.
Would he be smiling smile in my drawing?
That would be rare indeed.
I believe he would have a piercing look.
His eyes smoldering in arrogance.
A smirk upon his sexy lips.
Perhaps I am an artist....
I believe I just drew him with my words.
I feel a sense of freedom.
Less in need to reconcile my feelings.
The pain is subsiding…finally.
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