A poets pen 

An artists brush

Paint pictures 

That abound on lush

I paint of sunsets

And the dawn

Where birds sing sweetly

In the morn

Pressing her crimson lips

Upon my horizon grey

I will not hold

She will not stay 

The torment 

Of a lovers grief

Stolen by 

An artful thief 

The tears 

The hunger pangs of love 

Just cast on wing 

Of turtle dove 

Am I a heartless

Womanising whore,

Who simply craves 

For more and more?

I trace the rainbow 

In the rain 

Plant seeds within

For heartfelt gain

The notches 

on my bedpost blur 

My heartless soul

My face demure 

She now

Consigned to history

Her world of wants

A mystery