The world: an art museum.
Your eyes: they glow and wander.
They wonder like two satellites,
that pierce through clouds on rainy nights,
and capture every shape and dot
the subtleties, the newness of
this interplay, this dance we do,
The way we process and consume
the things that other people make
the simple joys from them we take.
I look at you, you're writing mental notes:
the pattern on the shirt he's in,
The sound of rain against the roof,
The smell of garlic in the pan,
The fabric melting in your hand.
As water finds the leaves of tea,
Your mind can blossom and break free.
Free to drink up new designs,
Adopt those brush strokes, steal those lines.
With all this seeing comes a catch:
That you will one day make your own
by setting fire to your soul
with someone else's match.
