For you, I've drawn each floral pillar of the Taj Mahal, will paint the picture white, such slow work, intricately made as these two friendship bracelets, as our camaraderie, evolved across a decade. You advised that I return again to those outlets, I love, to my writing, another channel for the investment of my too intense feeling so this afternoon I wrote and ink came to stain my heart with clarity. Mistakes were absorbed into the blotting paper inches beyond thought as you said they would be and the rain, as you predicted, was only a shower.
you know, we both paint portraits . . . yours are so much taller . . . there are a couple of little things that I see
I've drawn each floral pillar {of} the Taj Mahal for you
maybe
and the rain, {you} predicted, was only a shower
the punctuation and spacing could probably use some polish. I still love this piece. Was just having a conversation with someone dear this morning about how he sees parts and pieces and not the whole picture.
I'm so glad your friend predicted ink. As always your special brain does so much for your special writings. The flow of your thoughts keeps me riveted from start to end.
The way you write is eclectic & flowing, I lose myself inside the text (that is; in the best of ways, as in a dream). The images & described emotions flow over the reader so that something so personal can be read as a universal sentiment... recreating the Taj Mahal for somone... having ink stain the heart with clarity... This is some lovely poetry, mate.
(would 'bought' work better than 'brought'.. shouldn't matter much but somehow less ambiguous? sorry to be an arse-stickler) And, by the way *chips and mustard*?? That's just wrong!
Seems like such a wondrously personal write... like sharing secrets for us to hear.. to know the bits but not the whole... I just love how it comes alive through your voice. Beautiful.