French girl
My strokes slow. Blending the edges. She was something else. She was a master piece. A fucking beautiful tragedy.I wanted to capture, the pink of her lips, guiding that brush ever so slow.
"You're concentrating so hard"
"I want to make you perfect"
"You know as well as I do that I'm not perfect"
But she was, in her own horrific way. This woman, laying on my studio floor, flushed and completely naked was perfect.Then her eyes. They've seen so much.Witnessed many tragic mishaps.The curves of her body and her hips lifted off the cold wooden floor.Milk, that was her silky skin resembled,Every inch of it adorned by freckles, I was tempted to kneel between her thighs and connect the dots.Then her scares, war marksShe's seen so much in her short span of time but her lips have never told a tail.The woman was temptation.She was created to destroy lives.To wreck ships.
"Are you painting ? Or admiring my body?"
"Maybe a little bit of both"
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