Love Poem: Colorless

Colorless

He's gone!

His paintbrush
no longer skims my canvas

perhaps he became bored of staining skin
and chose to sculpt himself
a heart instead 

one that limns
lifeless things

He always said,
we're better off disjoined,
both being artistic lovers
who tire
over the slightest
familiarity of tongue

this time,
it just happens to be mine
still roused

bleeding

over the sharp edge
of his brush