If I had the skill to make a canvas speak
I would paint you the night sky, scarlet with expectation,
with storm clouds darkening a fairy tale of
silvers and greens.
I would draw you a promise of tomorrow in a ramshackle bridge
spanning golden waters, flecked with rivulets of red yesterday
thick with forget, slick eels fighting flying fish
swimming towards the valleys.
There would be clawed shadows crawling the edges,
but in the centre I would paint us in light,
wrapped in each other, eternally oblivious
and happy, and you would not have to hear
words that I am not able to say.