My day book became an impressionist painting,

Formal obligations blurred floral arrangement Monets.

Thoughts of us emerged, as a new aged collage.

Curious how once pasted people could be cut apart.

Oh what should I,

Interpret from this?

Oh how long should I stare and contort my head.

Each door frame became a surrealist escape,

Every step as unsure as an MC Escher staircase.

A mural arose, colourful swirls of theory.

Yes I detect patterns and themes here but please, what of some meaning?

Oh what should I,

Interpret from this?

Oh how long should I stare and contort my head.

Let's take our joys and transgressions inspired mistakes to strokes on a canvas hued truths on display.

Bring these portraits exposing the organs of love to a gallery vacant with walls to hang from.

Throw a private exhibit, rent out a hall stow our invited distractedly in the gift shop.

With steps in retreat and back greeting backs witness frames of good hearts under attack.

Here's to one last appraisal, an honest goodbye; walk through opposite exits leave all this unsigned.