she sits like a dream,
or so he thinks as his brush
begins to stroke the canvas.
a smile twitches at her mouth,
though he's said not a word,
and it's a game they play.
each color flows and dashes
like liquid fire on the white
till her image comes alive.
her eyes tease him gently,
darting and then away,
a flirtation with no sound.
the vision he has conjured
is nothing like her actuality,
as he has seen with a glaze.
if she were to do the same,
taking every hue to canvas,
then the same would occur.
you see, love does its magic
to enchant every single sense
till truth and fiction intermix.
someday maybe I'll also know
just what a lover sees in me
that makes him paint me false.
but until that day I watch
the other painters wield
all the colors at the ready.
About the Creator
Jillian Spiridon
just another writer with too many cats
twitter: @jillianspiridon
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