you took me to the museum
in the city,
the last fading memories
of idyllic spring.

i leant in to kiss you,
but you told me that you shouldn't
touch the masterpieces.

a year later,
and you have left.
the lights are off
and paintings covered,

but i am still a masterpiece
and i am ready to be displayed.
if only someone were to
just open the museum
again.