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The paint was thick and wet 
yellow ochre too oily ran down the canvas
I let it go, watching it maneuver
the crevices, then stopped it with my brush
before it dripped off the canvas

It reminded me of a stream meandering
a path in the forest, how weird
I was painting a portrait of my lovers face
the oil was sliding down one of the furrows
made by the laugh lines in his face

That too was strange since he never laughed
his serious nature did not permit more than  
 an occasional smile or chuckle
the lines came more from his frowns
he had a  stern character

While cutting in some shadow with a knife
I thought of how often we were silent
I enjoyed things mysterious and quiet
but not a total lack of communication

My thoughts made me wonder
what I was doing with such a man
I like lightheartedness and laughter
perhaps it's true opposites attract
but I don't think they last

I continued with my painting
with each stroke I saw another difference
by the time I had finished the portrait
I knew it had finished us

etw-