Paint My World

I remember when the sky was orange
because we decided to paint our own world,
I wanted to live in a Pollock dream,
close my eyes and empty my mind
throw the colors into the air to land
where they will.

There were streaks of green in your hair,
red ran down your spine and when you touched
me you left streaks of yellow behind,
we dance within Van Gogh's cafe under a haze
of vague purple stars of which I insisted upon.

We can hear the music of Gypsies play
and I am brought into the shade of more
somber umbers for the melody brings me into
the mind of Whistler. But then your eyes
remind me of Aviazovsky and strangely
those turbulent waters calm me,
we both agree to keep them in tones
of gray and blue with subtle hints of green.

The way you taste takes me into
the jungles of Rousseau and I want to forget
everything, becoming lost within you,
are limbs strewn about like Picasso,
we shall paint each other ecstatically
in unabashed neons, letting rainbows bleed
over the world.