Art is only finsihed when the artist walks away

Love is the same

I met him in fall

When the leaves echoed melodies of movement

And children climbed trees far too tall for safety

When color was everywhere,

And I didn’t have to search for it.

I didn’t kiss him when I felt like it

Or when I wanted to

I kissed him when there was no other choice.

It was him, or the darkness

He acted as light to me

It was weird, that first time

For weeks we almost thought we made a mistake

Then something else appeared

Like a bird perched on a blanket of snow

It was something bigger than a need to kiss

A need to be near

A craving so deep you almost can’t put it into words so you have to sing instead

Like art, it’s a work

Alive and changing, Fluid but sharp

And I’m not ready to walk away