Wet paint

The curious thing about wet paint is

it’s invisible to the naked voyeur

in all of us: the nakedness that

peeks and then troughs

in shame: but there’s no shame

in looking if a game it remains.

But the truly brill thing 

about anything wet-

painted is untainted it’s invisible 

to the eye but not your touch.

And our love I’m beginning to

feel is 

now so much 

more in need of 

more touch than the looking and 

watching it’s been …

… and for

far too long those unsung moments 

we abandoned idiotically; those

moments of cantering grace

and affection;

those moments we went and hid; 

those moments of sheer 

pleasure we madly refused to ride.

For even to ourselves we’ve not

realised love’s depths: and laden wet-

painted, like crazy façade, we’ve chosen to ignore

that in touch we’ll 

recover the truth of our be-

ing: the visibility we gave up

and now do require: the

ability and right to shout out:

“I

love

you!!!”


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