The painter was called
A portrait of Madame
Such a vision he created
What vibrancy
What life
Illuminating color
Capturing allure
Beguiling dark eyes
An enchanting slight smile
Resting on plump pink lips
The smooth ***** of her neck
Leading down to supple breast
Creamy, tender, full
So perfect as though it was
Prepared to accept her very soul upon it's ****** departure
Her ageless tomb
For this was the work of The Reaper's brush stoke
On display for all to admire
The beauty this life had once been
Commissioned to hang in his corridor
Allowing death to be sweet
Seductive
His enchantress to hell