The Artist

by Lucy Chihandae


He saw her...
He told her she was beautiful,
She smiled, 
A cynical curve
His heart fell
She did not believe him

He sat away from her
And drew her with his heart
The furthest tip of his pen
And felt her beauty
With no outward invasion

He touched the tip of her upturned nose
Slightly flat and obnoxiously large
He caressed her high cheek bones
Softly with the felt edge of his heartís tip
And marveled at their exaggerated height
Overdone width

He sighed as he guided the tip
Along her plump arms
Indented with a birth mark? A scar? 
Something...
He lovingly brushed up the shadows in the inner arm
For effect
To show the loveliness of cellulite 

He sang a serenade within
As he touched up her bosom 
Huge and clumsy, an orchard of melons
Slowly slid down the valley between
To the extra folds of skin
Around her middle
His heart leaped as he tenderly drew
Delicately outlining the curve of her womanliness

He sighed with awe as his pen 
Expertly sketched the bumpy area of her behind
Big rounded and low, a misplaced hill
On a clumsy terrain
He felt each smooth curve with his hearts hands
Cupped their spilling fullness
And lavished his admiration

He swooned with relish
Over her legs; stubby and unusual
Her thick short feet, hardly a size four
And blessed them with his pen...
A pair of glass slippers

Then he reached out again
Told her she was beautiful...
This time, offended
She slapped him and walked out.

The Artist by Lucy Chihandae

© Copyright 2014. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.



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