I can see you sketching all
Kinds of things there
Stuff that I can’t do as well
Unless it’s with words
But the cities you can make
Are even more tangible
And now another piece of paper
Has been taken out and you
Could be
Drawing me
But that might be so egotistical
To think that any of your art
Was meant for me
It could also be too awkward to tell
Someone
That you’re making art about them
Even if the inspiration
Is so minuscule
Drawing
Or
Writing
It does the same thing
With practice you get better
And to gift, it feels strange
Though I wonder
What the fuck my words could mean
To you
Even if you never read this
