HER BRUSH WITH DEATHA Poem by MimiWHer Brush with Death
©August 2013, Mimi Wolske All Rights Reserved
It began innocently enough. He said, “I’d love to paint you.” She smiled. He posed her. She sat for hours. He sketched. Day after day, indoors and out.
She oooed and ahhhed as his brushes worked; Yet, there was a part of her not captured. No amount of detail could replace what He needed from his lovely model.
With a soft blues he stroked her cheek And angled in touches of oranges For strength and highlighted her Red hair with streaks of greens.
Passionate purples caressed Her breasts with each stroke Of the master’s brush and thin yellows Flowers decorated her filmy negligee.
As his hand brushed her femininity, She found she’d given him her heart; It was the one thing left to paint And it became her brush with death. © 2013 MimiW |
StatsAuthorMimiWAZAboutMimi is an artist and an author and the world’s greatest singer. She has degrees to prove the first two…only true friends will verify the last. She loves to dance, do flips, ride her ho.. more..Writing
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