Chalky
Dusty hair and white fingertips
charcoal eyes, you’ve got this
way about you that says to me:
I am who I am.
Painted skin and chalky lips,
fingers that create and dismiss,
your knees are bruised from kneeling
but your murals are beautiful.
Your other half is your brush,
You breathe life- I know that much.
They don’t sell for millions, no
but you’re worth it.
So paint on, my artist
men should be laying at your feet
pouring you tea and feeding you fruit
as you swiftly stroke.
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