Thursday, December 12, 2013

Artisan

Her hands,
large, but delicate.

Her fingernails,
Bitten, cracked, unadorned.

She is painting an old,
French, sanded-down headboard,
Antique gold.

Why is she painting so meticulously,
Her face, masked in concentration?

I knew you would come, she said,
As she removed her apron
And, naked, moved through the cold room

Towards me

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