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I Want To Be Missed...If life permitted me to paint the love life I want, the love life I preferred; if life gave me a paint brush… I would sit there like the greatest painter, my mind being the only images I needed, the perfect extract, How does passion touch you; what mark does it make on you, I would never settle for normal… The entire feeling was never invented to dress in normal; if it was attire then the night would belong to me But with my paint brush I would go beyond only because it takes you yonder, forget how to flinch… The grip would be upon me to prove it, to celebrate it not the regular but maybe the Da Vinci… What would you want passion to know about you, what passion would know about me in that clinch As I walk out dressed and wrapped only in it, even the moon's light would submit to its energy… Like the unbelievable I would stand there, like the unheard grace about it you would see on me, Sometimes my heart beats this way, like I was that antique, the stories about Aphrodite… At times such desire more than that of sex, and the colors I would put on it are those you would talk of hours on end And it all lives with my passion… It belongs with my heart, a love that overwhelms it the kind that takes you to a fresh world… The centre of that final picture would be strong colors of forlornness, like the bow of Cupid outstretched… Like his arrow with no heart to traverse, only a time more inclined to some travesty… And this is how my passion would stand in that final image, where is my love, would be how I name it, As my mind comes back to its heart, as my passion awakes from the deep slumber of this notion… Because it wants that special somebody, the one my heart belongs to, the one this painting I address to The sigh within me, if life permitted me how I want to be loved; I want to be missed. Avantgarde Poetry S.H
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