It started at an art museum,
gathering my thoughts at the abstract.
Trying to make sense of the mish-mash splatters.
No peace in the overlapping chatter.

There YOU were, contrast to the flock,
reached your arm to vibrant spots,
closed your eyes and moved along.

I followed, as you brushed your hand
across the walls- so brazen,
an eyelid batted not by the guards
My racing breath chasing your
adventures to the next,
my fingers catching yours-
this piece entitled 'Poésie Pure'.

'Elle est..' a pause, 'mysterious, non?'
- he reflects, letting the moment linger
between us.
'You are...' appearing lost for words
he strokes my palms and finds a token of home.
'..love with missing parts' he whispers,
his hand calmly on my heart.
He asks about you mon amour...


© DanGlyn