An Artist's Wish

I wish I were a painter. If I were, I would paint long ebony strokes on the canvas to mirror his long limbs, making sure to capture the silkiness of his chocolate skin.

I wish I were a sculptor. If I were, I would mold and sculpt until the clay resembled the hard lines of his muscles while capturing the softness of his pose.

I wish I were a photographer. From my position, I would take multiple frames of his fingers. Intertwined and dangling between his knees as he rested his elbows on his knees as a perch. I would switch up and take pictures of his mouth, just to freeze that half smirk in time.

I wish I were a cinematographer. The scene would open as that one bead of sweat trickled down from his forehead to join the million others on his chest. Then I would focus entirely on the contradiction of his face - the relaxed slumber of his sleeping eyes playing against the smile reaching all the up to his cheekbones. The soundtrack on my movie short would be a combination of his breath slowing down and returning to normal mixed with the early morning not even dawn yet chirp of a lone bird outside.

Since I'm none of these, I just laid there and studied him instead. Committing every muscle, every movement to memory for days like today when I need a smile.