mirror gazing
with every intention
of painting
smiles upon her lips
nails slightly chipped
linger over
silver and gold flaked appliances
of her trade, she waits
for...
the....
right moment
when the song on the radio
evades sound and
transcends boundaries…
then
she...
wades into life
painting away 5 o'clock
and mental
notes of doubt
with a pale concoction, #7.
Leaning into reflections
the soft color of her skin
radiates bright with each
brush of perfection
with each...
brush
of...
there just right
she sits back and admires.
her - technique is flawless
her - skill untouched by fear
first the base of life
a touch of charcoal here and
then here,
a splash of smokey gray
a sparkle to accentuate play
fullness of delight
a butterfly in flight
and as the melody
rhapsodies to climax
she finalizes her transformation
with the stroke of
midnight and haiku
leaving behind any trace of
the who
is worn every day
from dread a.m. to just an hour ago;
and lives;
ruby red.
{{author note: my meager attempt to appreciate beauty in an experience I am not familiar with - please know, I want to paint her beautiful with my words - and if I fail, it is not for lack of wanting it.}}
