The Picture on the Parlor Wall
All became purview in her constant gaze ~
eyes that followed, no matter my corner,
nor settee where fleur-de-lis begged recline ~
and, no peace was found in voyeuristic laze.
Even in the vestibule - through the door
she stares
~ her beauty lingers there and captures
daydreams that share this moment in time.
I wonder ~ did the artist love her too,
he, who captured every seductive line
of wanting eyes and impatient grin?
How can one wish they'd never met a painting
without knowing ~ lost love...
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