restoration

only love is all maroon,
with the sweeping thicknesses
that fold into the thicknightime air.

your hair was it's paint brush,
diving daring strokes beneath the canvas
beneath me.

but now, the craqueler is chipped
by a few clumsy years and the mildew
creeps in on the

corners, but
there is always a new
palate to be painted with.