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He looked at her
As though she was a painting.
He wondered at her brown eyes.
They shyly shifted their gaze.
He admired her blushed cheeks.
He dreamed over her curves.
He wished he could untie
Her beautiful imprisoned hair.
He longed for her trembling lips.
He gandered at her sensous gasps.
He looked at her
As though she was a painting.
She was nervous standing alone,
Intolerable with his lustful gaze.
She felt uncomfortable
In her own body,
Threatened in her new dear dress,
Unsafe on her own land,
Unbearable with her raising heart,
Terrified with the histories.
She wasn't a painting.
She was a soul embodied.
Yet she couldn't stop him
As though she was a painting.
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