When I look at her.
I don't see color.
Not the tone of her skin, nor the clothes she wore.
She was a woman. Held upright within her own atmosphere.
She wasn't to be made of material possession.
With one look you'd know why she was regarded as every artist's muse.
But if you'd ever speak to her without regard to which aerosol
imitated her best.
She'd reply she just longed to be