She Paints

Artistically, she paints her face,
especially around the eyes,
just where the sky of soul can comprehend
the beginning to the end of separation.

Her hair, oh multi-colored glory
embracing gently each degree and variation;
slanting here, and rounding there
overlaying bare and naked flesh.

Eyelashes that reach out in space
like whiskers on a cat, they catch
the slightest movement in the air nearby,
fluttering before each tear thatís cried.

Luscious mouth, so ripe and red
shining with the moisture now applied,
supplicating other lips to draw
so near that they might share a kiss.

And thus her deepest wish is put upon display,
for most of her body is covered in cloth
and only her head is allowed to be seen -
yet never all that lies beneath the shell that stultifies.

Beneath the mask, the husk, the shell
only the eyes can really tell it all,
and these she keeps demurely poised
so that no other sees whatís there inside.

She hides within that painted face
as if the truth would bring disgrace,
never able to discover all the beauty
and the grace that she holds in.

Human is her nature
and natural her femininity.
Why is it that the world would rather
see what isnít really there at all . . . ?

? Michaelette ?

2/8/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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