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stillme (2)

he saved for her
the sunset
he’d been painting (all his life)
as crimson bled
to orange
purple green
a lover’s rite
reflections of the day
he found her standing
near the shore
held her (without speaking)
brushed a dress
of finest oil
silken sable
tipped with gold
steady made her curls
she came to him each night
as was created
other worlds beneath the canvas
(was there life
beyond this one)
he heard the shutters heave
the rafters roar
calmed again the artist’s storm
he found the solace (her)
meadow green
with silver shoes
and palest pink (her stutter)
took his breath
and held him close
in pools of cocoa bean
he knew her
every (blush of) imperfection
had painted her in places
always new
this world of his
how far away
twilight had confessed
to midnight hue
where sunset fell
in shadows (she is waiting)
sapphire blue

. . .

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