I always write poems in motion:
a man spilling his coffee,
wind currents dancing with a flower petal,
or listening to love in a public place.
But you paint our moments,
capturing our memories with your colors.
You make me wait,
hold my breath for the next stroke of your brush on canvas.
Only then do I truly see the importance of stillness.
You see the world the way it was meant to be seen;
through iridescent waves of bright oranges and deep purples.
You’re my sunset,
so no matter where I go I’ll always have you on my horizon.
And when I don’t know where I am: lost, confused, and afraid
you paint me a map
that leads me home.