Painted Lady
He fell in love with a painted lady.
She moved in mauve,
Her limbs sweeping in clouds of gold
That broke the monotony of his glass life.
Her presence brought hailstorms,
Navy rain that streaked her cheeks
And stained lips tasting of peaches.
She danced in her own supernova,
Yards of brilliant bronze hair
Filling his mouth, his nose, his ears,
More flavor than hue;
More scent than shade;
More song than any color
Her swirling body could produce.
When he was with his painted lady,
He knew no shades of gray;
Her moods were rose and plum and sky,
She his lovely painted lady.
They tangled beneath stars,
Each moment brighter than the last.
In the fervor of their love
His days faded into months
Which streaked into years
Until the cool blue morning
When his beloved painted lady
Released her last bleeding scarlet breath.
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