The Painted Girl

Poetry

she sits like a dream,

or so he thinks as his brush

begins to stroke the canvas.

a smile twitches at her mouth,

though he’s said not a word,

and it’s a game they play.

each color flows and dashes

like liquid fire on the white

till her image comes alive.

her eyes tease him gently,

darting and then away,

a flirtation with no sound.

the vision he has conjured

is nothing like her actuality,

as he has seen with a glaze.

if she were to do the same,

taking every hue to canvas,

then the same would occur.

you see, love does its magic

to enchant every single sense

till truth and fiction intermix.

someday maybe I’ll also know

just what a lover sees in me

that makes him paint me false.

but until that day I watch

the other painters wield

all the colors at the ready.

Originally published at https://vocal.media.