I sometimes look at a pure beauty,
And I seek it above, that I can reach
Those touches of the brush, and feel it
Within my bluest sense and reddest desire.
I sometimes am mesmerized, by who
Create those blurs, and that Art;
I weep for joy, and that is why
It frees saddest cries, and showers.
I sometimes look at you, my Love,
And find you in timeless rednesses.
Finding you in a dream of mine
Is the sweetest of all the bluenesses.
Touches of a brush may have made
With Love, and are spiritualized.
But they find concreteness, with you,
My Love, and they're the only line
Between my dreams and the reality.
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