I Want To Paint…

I want to paint

the sweet scent of pastries fresh from the local bakery of Paris wafting into my nostrils like a heavenly ghost, the beauty of a single, scarlet rose elegantly standing in a vase and the thought of me laying on a sun-baked beach as the guaranteed lustrous rays ricochet off the aqua-marine sea.

I want to paint

the petrified look on a cobra’s vulnerable prey, before it strikes and flashes its vicious, venomous fangs, a lone wolf, with its orange, piercing eyes, howling on a peak at the glistening, marble moon and the distance between me and my luxurious chocolate and hazelnut flavoured ice-cream, as I grip the wafer cone ice-cream and draw it near towards my mouth.

I want to paint the end of this poem.