I painted my life for you:
passion on my fingers, earth on my toes.
one touching into desire,
the other looking for a direction home.
I let nails chip and fade
time working its charm on young hands
that move slower and with less ease,
as lines of experience expand.
I watch dirt collect on lost soles
hardened by distance, weary of concrete roads
collecting calluses, growing crooked bones
as they keep treading foreign lands.
I looked and tried to let you see,
beyond the charcoal rims that cover (so cleverly)
the fact that you and I,