The Artist In-Climb

So I draw, my wrist upon script...
From the blood and lines
Of Time,
In Days without sentence,
Moments without the gentle cure
Of the palm-calmed breeze...

I Draw - human portions (bone and whim)--
A Life upon figures,
A Life pregnant with the dance
Of bodies dripped with heated-sweat...
And lore.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.