Woman of Art

She was a piece of art,

And her body told stories.

Stories about how she gave her up to a painter,

Who turned her caramel skin into a throbbing canvas of lesions,

And left her forgotten in his dusty storeroom.

It creeps through the window slits;

The amber sun lightly touches her skin,

In an attempt to heal her.

It gulps down her pain,

And gives wings to her contusions,

Until they soar away to the distant stars,

To dance with the midnight medley of galaxies on fire.


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