Three hands

I wish this was a painting-
I could have changed things around.
His head on your shoulders,
your method to his madness,
his angst on your unfurrowed brow,
your logic on his lack-thereof.

But real life is no Renoir-
and this, an impossible menage-a-trois.


So these colour images are faded.
Here lies the sepia and grey
of a lifetime of dreams:
my truth, your cloak, his dagger, my heart.
Our unfinished masterpiece.