i’ve drawn you maybe fifteen hundred times now

i’ve drawn you naked
resting in the sandpaper palm
of my open hand

i’ve drawn you riddled with bullets
licking blood from your lips

i’ve sat and i’ve sketched
every singular ounce of your curves
onto the sistine chapel ceiling
of my unholy skull

every fogged breath against
the window pane of my cornea
every scratch against my retinal walls

i’ve drawn you like a pair of scissors
drawn out then back together
sharp blades dancing against the friction
of one another

i’ve drawn you like the paper that they cut

i’ve drawn you like snow
falling onto cardboard boxes in some back alley
that doesn’t exist

i’ve drawn you like time
abstract and mechanically lost
graphite swirls extending across paper edges
onto tables like dust

i’ve drawn the forest
that runs through the spaces between my bones
and i’ve drawn the fires
that you ignite across my dried tinder
across my fallen leaves
the smoke that billows and fills the pages

i’ve drawn the tiger pacing the cage
the pendulum swinging across the body

i’ve drawn all the saints in heaven
all the angels arranged in chorus in rows
yellow suns blaring from their horns

i’ve drawn you in the dark
silent predator unseen but present
a constant reminder

i’ve drawn you in hoodie and leggings
i’ve drawn you in leather and lace
in time and space

i’ve drawn you tall like gods
like the chrysler building
like bodies falling to the ground

i’ve drawn you every which way i know how
upside down rightside up inside out
guts splayed widening across empty space
like the expansion of zero gravity

i’ve drawn you as an alien planet
one million clones in militant rows
saluting the flag of my heart

my wrist is breaking
bones grinding down from the ineffable pressure
of you

there has been nothing
that has left me feeling quite like this
a poet lost for words
forced to draw
and maybe shoot



Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.


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