yearning against a bare canvas
trembling pen, poised above a blank page
wrinkled pages of empty staff paper
a treble clef of desire
wrapped around fluttering expectation
of you in this moment
this instant of time against all other thought
all other pining
You are the blank canvas,
the unwritten song,
the unrealized word.
You are the virtuosity of my pen,
the talent of my brush,
the melody of my ear.
You are the truth of all things.