The Sitting

The portrait was flat, with dimensions
spreading thinly across the canvas.
Her breasts looked like a splayed palm,
with fingers and fist cursing gravity –
all in tones of blue.
Her face looked like a sucker punch.
But with a hint of twinkle, like the one
she must have had as a girl,
before the rancid whiff of regret
piled up in the corners of her mouth.
Her hair was a silver lining
and her grin was skeletal yet endearing.
He caught her looking just beyond him,
where the hills were green and the sun
was a perfect circle
and birds made the light dance in her eyes.
She waited for him to say, “I see you! I do!”

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