Reaching down
Through my stomach
Running my fingers along my veins
And through my heart
Reaching past the rib cage
To what I might find there
Situated beneath the blooming
Bloody lungs and the
Swollen black heart
To what I must have
And cannot do without.
The convalescence on canvas
Looking deep into the bleached white
TO see what is there
And dipping my brush, painting
my vision of you.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Khepary, in the year 157 MA.