Forever Sunshine

She was like a flower

laid upon a casket gently.

The artist painted her dainty;

as one would depict a rose.

Her eyes fixated to the side,

as if she was gazing at something

marvelous; maybe not since they

were laced with dejection.

Her naked body was sprawled out

in a chaste (but not seductive) way.

Her breasts were like tender

little hills, her legs like

vines, searching to latch

onto a sturdy wall.


I read the caption to the left;

“Reclining Nude

By: Frank Duveneck” it said.

I questioned,” Was she

his lover? How else could he

have painted her with such

wily passion?” I found myself

desperately daydreaming

that she was because, then,

the painting and I would be

united in the way that art

is meant to reach out to

its beholder.


I was once her.  Times ago I

was stretched out gracefully

anticipating your…

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