I’m looking for an insomniac stranger, a soul that never sleeps, and so it keeps its host restless into hours when the sky is painted with murky ink, the heat of passion shining through like sticky bits of glitter.
I’m looking for an artist so controlled by their talent, that his fingertips itch when he’s without pen for too long, or his hand feels like a stump without the extended digit of his paintbrush. Who dreams of new ways to speak with his soul to mass audiences that feign their understanding of such a fervid psyche.
I’m looking for someone who inspires me. Who has such a rare quality of ambiguous beauty that I’m left staring, pen posed at the ready despite knowing that no word exists to personify his exquisite enigma. A force I’ll never been able to solidify with my ink, though I swear I’ll try. They say some beauties aren’t meant to be defined.
I’m looking for someone to make me into a muse. Take me beyond this skin and corporeal penitentiary, melt me into ink and brush me against their canvas. Swirl my shadows with those sticky sparks, until stars freckle the form of my face and brighten my eyes.
Until I’m the passion that keeps him restless, soul stirring with insomnia so we can paint the sky a shade of our inspiration.
Copyright 2014 | Jazelle Handoush
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