Why do I go to museums?
Why do I go to museums?
Why do I walk through the white alabaster cloisters
In the echoes of my own footsteps
Waltzing in evanescence
As I stroll from frame to frame
I do not like half of the art I see
Even on a good day
I do not understand most of the art I see
Its profoundness eludes me
Although for the ones I do
There is an unspoken understanding
All the most beautiful portraits
All the most stunning landscapes
All that I can imagine
Yet why do I go to museums?
Is it to breathe a different air
And live in a different time
Study the tiny cracks in the aegean wainscot
Slats of whiskey bourbon light
Pouring into a different windowpane
How it glistens in your eyes
Come, stand next to me,
For just a faint moment
In this disorientating, disquieting space
Between these garden walls
It is delightful to erase myself
And exist with you