Paintings

A poem

Sat on the windowsill Like a painting by one of the greats Whose names I don’t know — I never cared about paintings — But you spew color theory…

Like a professor; Talk about reds and blues; And how they marry to new shades — Colors I’ve only encountered In back alleys or Sesame Street.

I write these lines in my head Staring at you — Chipped champagne flute lilting south

Head crooning east Watching the beginnings of a sunrise — You catch me And joke again

Love, you are never in the moment But I am I am And I’m soaking up Every detail of it.