10:33 a.m. - 2004-09-16
a painters poem
I must have been tired last night because I fell asleep in your lap. I drifted off into a dream that only the feeling of your skin could help create. When I woke up I was lying on the blue carpet, you were gone. All I could see were freshly painted purple walls and the black sky through a dusty window. I get so used to us that I often forget that theres a me with out you; alone and different. I slipped under my own covers anxiously waiting for morning when my alarm clock, in the shape of a rabbit, would wake me so you and I could paint the whole town on our old schwinn bicyles.
