XVII: Aesthete

Art is not all
canvas-and-oils
it is the
color of the sky on a hazy morning
or
the sweeping of the fingers of rain that
drag across your cheek
and the effervescent rush of a
turbulent rapid,
and
the
angular outline of establishments
against a
fluffy white on azure
it is the small,
moany
sigh
that equals the feeling of love returned
(expanding heart in chest, tears in eyes)
and it is
Light
reflected by
pigment
in the iris,
aqua,
infinite,
and the tasteof your mouth against mine,
and Art
is
this world
andeverything(is one)in it





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