Art.

I want to paint you with my mind,
remember every fold of your skin,
each tense movement of your muscle.
I want to capture in oils,
the sweet warmth of your breath,
as you pulled me down
and engulfed me with strong arms.
I want a fine sketch of the moment
you made me yours,
instead of the charcoal blur I am left with,
that smudges more each year.
I want a thousand prints to remind me,
of every move you helped me make.
But most of all,
I want to graffiti over the part where you let me go.