The Paintress
By R. Cary
I saw her like a painting, a piece of beauty frozen in time. It’s as if Michael Angelo just painted his latest creation and brought her to life. Her movement touches this earth with such grace the world behind her brightens to the tone of her skin. I can just imagine, as she reaches out her arm passing along the oils of her skin onto this world. Showing a twinkle in her eye, as she gazes at you, your soul becomes mesmerized, as you beg to know more. All I can do is follow, all I can do is desire more, to feel in my life what your heart has craved.
You let the bus pass by, you can only stand to your feet, your soul searching from your eyes. You begin to seek, but you have lost sight. Turning, just slightly towards her, you can see no more, just her. It is as if she knows your desires, knows what you want with just the sight of your eyes. Slowly, as her hand touches the corner her head turns, her eyes invite. She, just as you, cannot escape the intricacy of this precious work of art, a work of art you are now a part of.
As you turn the corner, a door is left open in the alley. You follow your intentions and arrive atop of the stairs to an open canvas of an artist. She moves her eyes towards the chair in the middle of the room. Looking around you see hundreds of blanketed canvasses. Your heart desires to see her, through her art. You ask, ‘may I see some of your art’? The Paintress merely lifts her arm and raises it down. You accept her invitation and sit, carefully, mimicking her fluidity. For the first time, she speaks, ‘Please remove your clothes’, as she turns to prepare her canvas. You can do nothing else but disrobe and again, sit, knowing patience is required of you. Smiling, she says, ‘stare right here into my eyes and you will see’. With each brush she begins to create her art. You, sitting in the chair, begin to lose feeling in your legs, your arms, your body. You try to raise your arm, look down at your legs, but nothing is there, you no longer can sense your body. Raising your eyes you can only stare at her beauty. In just moments, her work of art is complete.
Staring into her eyes you look past her, to an empty chair where you once sat. All you can do is look back into her eyes as she touches you with one last stroke of her brush. The Paintress takes a step back giving her work of art the admiration it deserves, covering her new creation calling it #203, ‘Enslaving Men’.
End
The Paintress
By R. Cary
Copyright 2020
Poetry & Prose By R. Cary 