You were more beautiful real than your screen
Every part of me knew it like the Moon
Your painting was another stunning scene
More than enough to compel me to croon
I had painted you inside out and in
Unclothed to a point of alacrity
Your painting could not be construed a sin
No matter my passionate acrity
Alas, beauty tends to fade within too
Even in less time than a pregnancy
Your painting appears to weather my view
As I contemplate our lush Thessaly
My mind is filled with your paintings of yore
With the blues and whites near the open door
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Dedicated to a Greek beauty
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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