Renoir

To live in your time,
by your side,
in yor mind,
in ignorance to all things beautiful.

To gaze outward,
toward the explosion,
with non-existant eyes.

Rapture,
to induce the glory of the passing fade.
Cower,
in my hallway,
and in my heart.

In all your living years,
did you ever consider why the earth is so unclear?

The aim of museums,
in thier wickedness,
is to form a spiders web.
The very floor plan is a map to your lair.

Mystic,
Romancer,
Time Traveler,
Sage.

Do you believe?
Oh, I do.

I believe that I could step through your photographs
and master the fade.

I breathe in gasps at every stroke,
and I sigh,
for you.

Is that what you wished for?
Passion?

The air conditioned breeze through the marble hall tastes of fate.

Renoir,
the streams your paint are a cool wash...
...and love.