composed of dreams and black ink
and alpine breezes
I watch you
with your fingertips
pressing the brush,
your elegant strokes
When you paint, Yasuko, I see how thoughts come alive, I watch what you have to say, and the beautiful way you say it, with your paintbrush.
Your mountain painting reminds me of everything I love about you, and the soft kisses I planted on your ink-stained fingers.