The Chef-d’oeuvre

People usually fall in love, I didn’t, I woke up in love, I did,
Call me a moron, but I didn’t fall for you, fell for another ‘her’,
Fell deep into the sucking void of her glam and beauty, idiocy it was, blind sight,
Never saw that lady shadowing ‘her’, never knew that your shadow was my light,
She was shady, not dark, she was silent, her inner fire beautifully violent, splashing,
her confidence showed her might, her soul was a pretty sight, so was her art,
Her dangling bangles I never noticed before, lost in her tattoo I was,
My thoughts often started with atoms traveling through space-jumping  into blackholes,
But it was the past, thoughts did a full circle always jumping over your cheeky black mole,
Only the width of your heart made me stop in my tracks, butterfly farm it was,
Waking up to you after falling for the wrong person, I fell again, but you caught me,
Threw me to the sky, floating up there, like your spirit, free, radiant and ever warm,
The question of ‘The One’ never popped up, call it intuition, call it a sixth sense,
My sixth sensual she was, she often used to paint me, paint me with herself and love,
I could never make out those colours, it was a dizzy world of comfort, high on emotions,
Skipping her degrees for an alternate career she made me skip beats, swooning,
Her paintings I never understood, I understand now, standing over you,
Standing over your grave, I wake up again, wake up to see you in your canvas,
5 decades later I realized, I never fell for her, she did, I was her masterpiece.
~Brushed

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