Yours
A used, abandoned canvas;
An artist who had once filled it with
such bright resplendent swirls
Only to soil it
with the stifling colors of umbrage
a year later-
traitor.
A dinky bucket pooled with flesh;
Lacking,
wrecking,
racked.
Insignificant!
But wholly yours..
Yours for the building,
yours for the molding.
Yours for the filling,
and yours for the keeping.
Diffidently so!
Yet still so utterly yours.
And I can only pray,
pray that you will not
do the same
as he.