That Smile

Was it the zephyr who hissed
over a lonely cup of coffee
when I said you hold true
to the things you could be,
that I hardly look
but I always judge;
And until the sun,
until the sun could guise the smile -
and the sad breeze,
the recurring nightmares of the hopeless,
and over a cup of coffee,
I am colder.

Eventual Paintbrush

You are an eventual paintbrush
The colors that you take
and the shades you make;
Out of place and only familiar
but you're a cigarette away
The lines that you draw
and I see twilight star
The outlines of your strangeness
marks the style of your exuberance;
and carrying with me the reverie,
every ache
and every painter will stroke you to your nearness,
And shall I paint with you too?

Dreaming ahead
and I paint my difference
in the pastel fields
and sketchy corners of the world;
I can only paint my word