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Paint the Trees MAG
You’re armed; I can feel it.
Stroking bark through stained glass
with a horsehair brush
and earth-toned acrylics,
deftly assaulting nature in sepia,
I freeze
as sage cotton senses you
behind me.
“Hands up!” you breathe,
a rigid finger painting pointillism
on my canvas of vertebrae. You belong in
the dungeons of the Louvre.
Never one for sentiment,
I brush your thoughts aside
with a sweep of blue.
Slowly you step
through my autumn secrets,
through my knee-deep
pile of red acorns and fallen twigs.
Jaw set, your fingers
bleed purple honey.
© Anonymous
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This article has 2 comments.
CharmingChar PLATINUM said...
on Feb. 4 2010 at 1:31 pm
This is amazing
You're imagery inspires
Thank you for writing, I'm waiting for more
You're imagery inspires
Thank you for writing, I'm waiting for more
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