Ah, Caravaggio, you come to me in a dream.
We both hold on to the darkness –
painting canvases seeped in sanguine.
Red is the color of my cheeks
as I blush when our finger tips brush.
Do you not see what I’ve buried deep,
has dug itself out to find me?
Feel how my fears quake
as the waking sun’s rays illuminate.
It’s light that blinds,
yet all the while pretends to mend.
I clutch fast to the shadows
and nod in acquiescence.