Poetry

I sometimes look at a pure beauty, 
And I seek it above, that I can reach 
Those touches of the brush, and feel it
Within my bluest sense and reddest desire.

I sometimes am mesmerized, by who
Create those blurs, and that Art; 
I weep for joy, and that is why
It frees saddest cries, and showers.

I sometimes look at you, my Love, 
And find you in timeless rednesses.
Finding you in a dream of mine
Is the sweetest of all the bluenesses.

Touches of a brush may have made
With Love, and are spiritualized.
But they find concreteness, with you, 
My Love, and they're the only line
Between my dreams and the reality.