Starving Artists

Two Artists communed on a subway platform.
We broke bread, drank wine.
Sent praises to the almighty Gods of creative expression.
I shared Hip Hop. He gave contemporary in return.
We lived Poetry.

Two Artists made Love on a subway platform.
Art was the bed. I laid words down as if it were my first time. I was shy, apprehensive, fear filled due to the intimidation of an Artist going strong for 30 years.
He respectfully called me Beautiful.
I told him he wasn’t too bad himself. We laughed. We broke barriers. Color lines were not erased; they were never noticed.
Still unaware of the tone in his complexion, but his hair was superbly untamed.

We shared ourselves on a subway platform.
I was a blushing purple pen with black ink.
He was a guitar pick. He made the sound. I created the letter.

They call us starving Artists and yet there is nothing more than what I have that I am in need of. May I share even?

– Hrsh Reyalitee

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4 comments on “Starving Artists

  1. Two Artists made Love on a subway platform.
    Art was the bed.

    Loved the symbolism in this piece…and in that statement. “Art was the bed.” Excellent piece.

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