Amores Inarte

Inspired by Ovid’s tongue-in-cheek 'Amores'.

 

You paint me as the beautiful one,

Mostly pink dresses pinned on princesses with their

Gaudy golden locks: trails to the floor, I say!

You mistake me!

I am flattered by your praise, and opened up,

Heart and soul overdone;

Yet what use is there in mouthfuls of air?

Don’t dress me as the doll,

I am the Pygmalion, the sculptor;

Though not Fair, I demand the same:

Do not leave me where I hang on your

Every word-

All has been said before, by me;

Don’t tell me yours, but show me!

Try all day, all night awake

With words, your soul burdened by the heat,

I cannot be as pretty as those conjured,

And conquered, no mistress is satisfied,

Lest her mind be impassioned by

The new sight of action-

Warfare in love;

There is nothing in your wild poetry;

No painting, I want reality!

Not loved up in a dream-

If only my dreams did not betray!

They are the weakness to you, spiralling

Heartbreak of perfection,

The only base-coat we should follow;

Let us stray from base-colour convention.

Why do you try on your manners again?

Like dipping the brush, when mixing shades

Can so easily be accomplished, if you let me

Break the line.

So easily, in a minute, I have shown you

My faith, without more description,

The garment-weaves are wearing thin.

Your craft may be at your hands;

Do not mould me, but give me them,

Your hands,

To do with as I like,

To have the potential of another place

In bright, alluring crimson, and blood-

Fire as white.

When I have them, I don’t need you.

Before you lose me: show me!

The End

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