isn't it just like you to fly tiny droplets of fire into my so carefully woven fabric of control to much, too fast so brutally honest and painfully desperate riding high on transparent attraction standing next to the Venus statue I let the wind take my arms and the moon take my color and do not mourn the passing of an opportunity content to feel beauty immortal through half-closed eyelids and smile-soaked brush strokes sun-sparked canvas and lazy fingers enduring gazes enlightened centuries twisted torsos enslaved in canon yet - isn't it just like you to make me wish for a moment that one was two for just this night in just this place to crack the marble.