Expressionist Hearts

Swinging wands and blowing bubbles
Tasha and I lay beside the banks
of Lake Michigan, scanning night skies
searching for vibrant orbs that burst
in the firmament like post-impressionistic
star bodies, yellow cores surrounded
by swirling brushstrokes mushrooming
into concentric dabs azure and white.

“Pretend you’re a pallet knife and I an easel,”
Tasha teased, “which corner of my canvas
would you render first?” I exclaimed that I’d
proceed to boldly daub her left—mixing no colors—
my spatula loaded in bright blue oil paint,
soon followed by yellows and greens splashing,
smearing, spattering an illusionary landscape
an impasto technique we applied to lovemaking.

Still on our backs facing the heavens
creating and releasing temporal bubbles
to dance on the breeze…each dip and sway
an impermanent performance mimicking
substance…we simultaneously turned our heads,
marveled at a ragged crescent moon that lit
then lingered over a quaint, sleeping village
and wished upon every new star as it emerged.