Dimly lit by moonlight,
the painting
rests uneasily on the floor
where he crouches to examine
its brash swirling colors,
mixing,
if not in complete harmony,
then in anticipation of some unifying melody
yet unheard.
Captivated by the picture’s unruly play,
he runs his fingers across its jagged surface
sculpted from rough brushstrokes and
the artist’s own fingertips.
“It’s lovely,” he murmurs.
“It’s something,” she replies,
her lips brushing his neck.
“Initial inspiration,”
she muses,
“can be invigorating
even when
its destination
is a dead end.”
This was originally published in Fall 2017 edition of The Helix.
