he comes with nothing,
expect to draw somehow an 'art', he said
instead he imagine the picture of his lover,
and the moment not to be missed
he picture her well,
as if she was there by the time he starts to draw

but time,
it has been a problem
as every line drawn was a waste
every reminiscence of carbon and water line
the picture he made,
it was love itself
majestically embedded on a scrap paper

waste has it been
dumped in a curragh perhaps?

there was nothing left in his heart
Love was pictured,
and gone. forever