The painting draws my attention
like a casual stroller at the lower left hand
corner of the local garden.
The softly draped yellows and flecks of color
falling from their shoulders,
while kneeling, down to their feet
where hers are bound by ropes of gold,
making her flight impossible.
My eyes gaze upward to the fold of their robes
blending in, one with the other,
then I notice her face turned away
from his kiss placed so tenderly
on her cheek.
Boredom is her expression;
the adored one,
no passion there.
His hands cup her face,
his neck bends
Her arm circles
while the other
pushes him away.
Stars are in her hair
the absence of
stars in her eyes. © Arlene S. Bice, 2008
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