“You’re a work of art only just framed by my eager fingertips.”

Make love to this body like you always have.

Its as simple as that. A slow burning flame flickering upon these freckled fingers.

She won’t bend and break as you’d expect her to, she’s a solid form of bravery and fearlessness and that can’t be undone.

Kiss on forehead, nose and cheek. Repeat.

This petite heart found strength in your kind eyes.

You’re a divine human being. A tongue swift as a sword and hands that can hold every drop.

I’m still trying to fix up the wreckage you left behind, the chaotic strings of misery you let fall to the floor. Each piece delicately piercing my skin, the red glow a contrast to my continual white limbs.

Dreams of our last night together left a tingling feeling like a splinter in my skin. I couldn’t grasp it, but the glorious pain sat brewing into my bones.

Don’t let them take any more of your heart that you’ve already given them. Hold onto what you have left and build it again.

Rainbow sugar, candied eyes. You have the potential to crack me open and let my feelings spill right onto the floor.

Your euphoric eyes hold me hostage.

I don’t mind wasting my hours with you.

You make the ocean in the pit of my stomach surge with overwhelming intensity.

This winter is quite inviting knowing your warm hands will be upon mine every minute.

Just you and only you. You fit so perfectly in my arms, in my bed and between my legs.

I seek out your skin at night.

If it sells, it’s art.

Despite the lack of colors, she was a work of art.

Policy is the art of the possible, the science of the relative.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously ever after.

We become immortal through our art.

The challenge is to practice politics as the art of making what appears to be impossible, possible.

There art two cardinal sins from which all others spring: Impatience and Laziness.

You were my muse until you chose silence and I lost my talent.