Body and soul, you are art.

My emerald paint rushes through
Your burnt yellow veins, mapping out
Sapphire blue train tracks and tree trunks
Under your parchment paper skin.

Copper wire glimmers in the darkness
Of your hollow ceramic bones, carefully
Wiring your body together, keeping you up
As you make tentative steps towards my canvas.

Your teeth are my old balled-up sketches,
Chewing up your thoughts and spitting
Them out as carefully rehearsed poetry,
Leaving me gasping in your words’ aftermath.

Covering your head is not hair, but the brushstrokes
I painted over your ears, down your shoulders
With a crooked wrist and shaking fingers,
But God, you still look like the sun.