“Botticelli”

by Elizabeth Santaromite

She had a body like a Botticelli,

And he had no appreciation for art.

I envy where his fingers smudge.

They trace you, shape you, form you

make you something you arent.

The pastel softness leaks, charcoal smudges;

your canvas now, is dark.

I envy where his finger smudge.

So leave his collection of art and I swear,

In my home you’ll find a gentler wear.

A masterpiece on my mantelpiece,

Admiring through eyelashes during every feast.

Id devour you for what you are,

A work of art to be enjoyed, en masse.

So Id eat and Id eat,

Id be the perfect hostess.

Gentle caress, where smudges once lay,

Framing you only for appreciation and display.

For I know art when I see it.

The luck of admiring you in my homestay,

the luck of sharing the bed in which you lay.

You are art my dear,

Smudges and all.

Leave him my dear,

Allow yourself to fall.

Ill catch you and lift you,

High up on my wall.

Leave him my dear,

my art.

For I envy where his fingers smudge.

Gemini

Your name tastes like liquorice,

Palatable by few,

My tongue however -

Hopes to spit you out at its closest convenience.

Your body - delicate,

Made of glass, I see straight through.

My blood lines your edges as a caution

For those who wish to touch you next.

Your words sound like rainfall,

Gentle against a tin roof, happily received,

A summers worth of drought.

Yet, all in one night you flood them out.

You sweet,

You salt.

You soft,

You sharp.

You drizzle,

You hail.

A woman of two faces;

A Gemini in the making.