Museum Quality

Museum Quality©

You’re a masterpiece.

No. My masterpiece.

The Venus de Milo would grow arms just to hold you.

The stone Pharaohs curse the white man that smashed their noses because now they’re unable to inhale your essence.

You are the secret behind the Mona Lisa’s smile.

The histories of cultures are hidden in your eyes.

And now I want to paint you.

Not a picture of you.


Your stretched-taut skin be my canvas.

Blood and sweat my oils.

Thinned with tears to become my watercolors.

We need no brushes.

Hands and bodies creating swirls and whorls.

Each movement recorded – stained and etched in my heart, my head

My sheets.

My bed.

It’s selfish of me; art of this magnitude is meant to be appreciated by many,

Shared with the world.

But sorry. No general admissions here.

You’re my private showing.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I was reading poems on another site today (9/15/2006) and got inspired.  This tumbled out in like 20 minutes.  I love when "the bug" bites me!

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