To My Artist

To My Artist.


Silent, brooding eyes absorbing everything that surrounds.
An artist you are, a talent you have, a gift you share. 
Not a simple picture, but a living piece you weave,
Looking deeply into the very soul does he.

I watch trying not to distract, its funny to see how he acts.
My book in hand the characters come to life in my head.
With out realizing he is watching me in a reflection.

A simple afternoon, with nothing more to do, I spent it
The only way I wanted to, I even got to say how much I
Love only you. He says its nothing, a simple piece.
But it seems like so much more to me.

He can’t believe I’d rather sit there, quietly
Watching, but I don’t care. With him I admit
I would be happy any where.

Insightful and perceptive his artistic eyes,
To him I cannot tell any kind of lie. So intent
He is as he works his hair falls over his shoulders.

He stands and stretches walking over to me, with a
Smile, my heart races as if I have been running a mile.
A slow simple kiss makes me realize with out him how much
I have missed.