Like a painting by Cezanne,
the night unfolded its polychromatic hues,
intense brush strokes
bathing with light
a once dull canvas.

Remembering how your legs, arms, mouth
merged into mine with no beginning or end.
I could not tell where you ended
and I began. I knew if you cut yourself
I would bleed;
Like an impressionist painting we made
art; the night sang with it!
Lying alone in the dark,
I touch the still wet paint
with a smile.

©Willow Rose 2011

6 thoughts on “Reverie by Willow Rose

    • Thank you, Autumn Eliza! You used the word “fusion” which I find interesting in this context. There is a poem by Ron Reed titled “Cold Fusion.” And I am thinking it would not hurt one bit to get the denotative meaning of that word. Have a peek at Ron’s poem when you get a chance. I thought of it as an oxymoron but maybe not! I always admit it if I don’t understand completely. That is what comfort and trust does. And certainly what it takes! ~~~~~Thank you~~~

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