Her skin is clear and white (as I see it);
he picks out the heat and cold
that is in her flesh
so her belly is blue and green;
colours I have seen
where rubbish stirs in low tide.
She is a timber frame
a thousand colours.
They are inside each other
wash in and out of each other;
They graze on each other;
slap, fall, meld, hide,
shimmer, swelter, drown;
no rules until completion.
The brush, searching for challenges,
rushes about the page putting out fires
anxious for a thousand perfections