An Object

An object in every sense of the word
A word shocked the senses
A painting never speaks
And when she did you were confused
Because it wasn’t what you expected
Or even wanted
But her voice became part of your dream
And as the form changed
What you saw was what you heard
Atmospheres sketched
And then fading to your assumptions

A creation is not to be understood
Only experienced
Even from the inside
You cannot know what you have found
The moment of intimacy is a rip-tide
A loss of control that you asked for
There is nothing you can do
Except survive
Not knowing why you tried
Except that art was how you wanted to live
But art is not you
It’s only what you think about
And when you think about it
That’s what you did with her
You paid to be near
And you left alone