22 – the portrait –

I stand alone, in an empty room, my gaze missing,

my hunger hidden, he paints my curves with delicate

lines, my nose demanding attention, the dress dark

and wanting against my pale skin waiting to be touched by

the maid has she peels me  from this velvet concoction.

this portrait for the wall, will watch as l grow old.

 

-s.j.duncan-

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