To The Aesthete

I don’t want to be with you.

That would taint the perfection you hold,

To mix up your blues and pinks,

To muddle your silvers and golds

With my whites, browns, blacks, and greys,

Direct brush strokes the opposite way,

To take the delicate surface

And spoil it with my stain.

.

To cover up your artistry

With my mediocre portrait,

To get my dirty fingerprints

On the crystal clear scene that’s been set.

.

No, I don’t want to be with you.

I just want to admire.

Appreciation of art is past due,

On you I’ll spend what I’ve acquired.