Addicted to Art
By the time we made it to Georgia,
I realized he wasn’t just an artist.
he was addicted. He breathed
inspiration and creativity.
Oils, acrylics and water colors
ran through his veins.
We visited art instead of history museums,
and shopped for paintbrushes,
instead of Georgia peach tee shirts.
He saw the sights
of gnarled driftwood,
cypress and alligators,
ever present Spanish moss and kudzu vines
in terms of lighting, perspective and composition.
When we played on the beach,
he sculpted castles.
When he made dinner,
a feast for the eyes.
And when we kissed,
a masterpiece!
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