Went to a gallery with the girl
and I couldn’t keep my eyes on the walls.
She was infinitely more interesting
than oils.
She had cheeks like Botticelli
collarbones like Picasso
and breasts like something from Cézanne:
not mountainous landscapes, but fruit – the softness of an avocado.
You couldn’t capture her with paint
but you could build a frame
like a cage
around her edges, still life.
I know it sounds dark, but
the woman is a work of art.
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One Comment
Awesome! I love the comparisons you have used and the third stanza is wonderful. It is a poem such as this that makes a poet widen their own perspective (no pun intended) on how they construct a poem.