The Artist

nastroeniya-kraski-kistochka

Whenever she pictured him, he held

A brush in his hand, mouth pursed in thought.

Together, they imagined universes and colors and sound like the

Delicate cool blue whirl of the pulsar like the ocean at the heart of every star.

Whenever she pictures him, colors stain his fingers,

Many colors swirled in a chaotic mess

Like their love, like their passion

Yields eventually to the whirl of daily reality,

Of family, of dinners made hastily and conversations murmured in between

Predictable as the planets spin around a yellow sun.

This is my submission for the A-Z Challenge where this month I am going to post a flash fiction (or in this case flash fiction poetry) a day. Happy April!

6 thoughts on “The Artist

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