Thoughts at 2:52 am
I used to use words as a paintbrush. The blue smears of cornflower and streaks of vermilion. The apricot glow of a bosom in firelight and the mossy brown of a half buried pecan peeking through twigs and fallen leaves. Words were colors on canvas. As precise as one hair of sable drawn across the arc of a smile. Broad as paint splatters from a half used gallon can of aubergine fallen from the top of a ladder. I miss that brush of viscous dye.