All The Art I Need

A man in throes
Of passion knows
No pen or paper,
More content
To pay the rent,

Dig endless holes,
Stack bricks atop
Bricks, break his back
And hold a smile
Where paychecks spiral
From pockets single file

Like stars in twilight sky,
More  than man can count, too
Tiny to matter, enough
To fill the eye
For ten lifetimes,
These are the days
Of happiness,

From each other
Until one day,
As you lay on your back,
The black drapes of night
Drawn in and painted over
With those countless stars,

A hand holds yours
And the warmth you share
Becomes the only real thing
In this speckled quiet dream
And each day before you
Like each star above you
And the hand-warmth
Between you all

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