if she walked out of the nude that sits in my room and sat in my chair
sketched from behind faceless and pale with ribbons for hair
i would embrace her with tears our wet cheeks meeting mine of skin hers
of ink and paper

she would tell me of her world the two bicycles rough sketched without brakes or a
chain and of her friend head turned to the side
gauze hair covering her face hand on lower back
the two of them sisters ballerinas cyclists drawn perfectly from the mind

we would fall into each other
me into her white space carved out inside thin white line
her into my flesh warm her ink
spotting smudging me marking me as hers

she is faceless as i know her only from the back
until she walks out of the drawing into my life
i imagine her smiling a small smile that fits her face perfectly
tilting her head down to hide the smile thinking it shows weakness

i lift her chin get ink on my hands and look into eyes that only exist in my mind
she looks through me to the picture on the wall
existential and dangerous
her friend’s nudity waiting for her

nude she covers me in ink careful not to miss anything
takes my hand in hers
walks me up to the drawing and into it through the frame
i look over my shoulder to my empty world to the sounds of laughing and bicycle bells

Ryan Evans is a writer from Seattle, Washington and has been published in small literary journals around the United States. Check out more of his work here.