Xaria

He looks and barely treads, his smile warm as toast, when the oil is spread, for all he's ever seen, and also what he's shown, there's no sense of ease, his daily bread, gathered all alone, doesn't make him bend, he's in love with scenes, his canvas resin soaked, always on his feet, uses my lipstick instead, not caring for loans, he lights up my bed, always loves the sea, skipping waves make him joke, he's an old has been, his visions are dreams, strikes a match for tone, does he picture me, my face unknown?