The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.

A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.

Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.

What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.

The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.

The life is still, but forever infinite.

Of feathers and rain,
Both washed and running,
His strokes are free but damp,
His words are clear and flowing.

Thousand strong, they speak of life so light and pale,
Where the wind blows soft in an off-white sail;
In the faded colors they are but a dream,
Still the ocean breathes salty, calm on the breeze.

On white they bleed,
Under summer sun like rain they dry,
Although in the wet they run,
Still some day they all must die.

And they bled such beauty,
Their death so tragic, is now such glory,
Of feathers and rain they seem,
In faded colors they are but a dream.