somewhere in some museum
pierre-auguste renoir has a painting
i’ve seen it in a book
somewhere inside of me
i can see you as the model with
the barret drawn from your hair
and your shoulders flushed with color
what is not inside of me is the thought
that i am the impetus for the color or
the artist with broad and gentle brush strokes
and while you will say that is my problem
i can say
that you will never understand
the pleasure that picture has for me
In thirty years of reading poetry, this is one of the finest love poems I have ever read, online or off.
Starward