POETRY: Her Brush With Death

 

Her Brush with Death

 

©August 2013, Mimi Wolske

 

All Rights Reserved

 

Image

 

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.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s