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Robin Fulford Jan 2014
Smoke
you can watch it forever
moving slowly
as if it were to dance in the air
free as can be
slowly and majestic it moves
the scent can be crude
but when it curls around your fingers
when it lingers in your hair
smoke
its deadly but beautiful
Robin Fulford Jan 2014
He tries to capture her beauty within the lines. Stroke by stroke her beauty unravels.
He paints what he sees, who he sees. In every line there are the true colors of her.
Piece by piece their love is brought alive by the paint on this blank canvas. This blank canvas, hollow without emotion until the brush smooths over the surface.
No one but he can see her as a whole, she is true beauty itself. Without this model, without this image of her there is no love his vision.
He is visionary she is imagery.
Can you see as he strokes her hair into flowing locks or how deeply he admires her shape?
With love there is no wrong way, there is no wrong way to express how you feel and with this painting he wants her to see her own beauty, her own self worth.
For before this she hid away from the world because no one saw her for her.
They saw only the surface. With all the colors of her soul, you can start to see who she is.
Not what brands she wears, not how her hair is done or the latest version of her phone.
For he paints her with nothing, nothing but her glowing smile and bright eyes. Now where is this glorious painting?
Well it’s in the house where the man is living his days out until his muse returns.

— The End —