Artistry; Or, the Education of Desire

I stenciled your name across my corneas
In permanent marker.
It hurt, as
Ink to eyeball contact generally does,
But I've been blind
For a while,
So a few extra black lines didn't really make a difference.

Let's talk, for a minute, about
Education of desire. Or,
Scratch that,

Let's talk about artistry.

Anyone can be a fantastic artist,
And suppose that I'm anyone.

Not that I'm attempting to trumpet
My own proverbial air-horn, but

Shit;
All it takes is a pair of fine legs
And a well formed ass,
And every time
(With few tender brushstrokes)
I'll paint the same Minerva
Over any female face.

And I'll lose myself
Within that perfect superimposition, until
A word
Or a glance, or
Any number of barely perceptible bodily movements
Adeptly interpreted by the human brain
Remind me that

Art is not life.
Art is art.
But I love it anyway.