intimacy is not the impact of the painting in view
but more so, the feel of the brush strokes used.
intimacy not the turn key in its motion
but more so, the eventual impact flood upon the opening.
it is not the fallen leaf lying upon the ground
but more the read of the timeline in its coloration.
not the cut of a garment worm for its view
but easily, its threadbare, for the story it tells from its wear.
not the bouquet as it stands boldly front facing
but the embrace beckoned from the visual intimacy offered.
not from the pace of the gate used in walking
but more self-intimacy
from rush of the scene as seen in passing.
and not the thickness of the ice, secured below me
but the see-thru clarity that is secretly inviting
intima-see . . .
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