a monet

she’s a monet, le jardin de l’artiste á giverny, hanging in a museum

she’s behind glass and protected by a series of lasers, temperature and humidity controlled

pristine and perfect

i can only admire her from afar

i’m chalk art on a sidewalk

pastels blotches, blowing in the wind, drawn by clumsy hands and walked over by busy pedestrians

it looks like rain and soon i’ll be another multicolored rivulet

beneath her notice

her intense colors and masterful brush strokes, highlighting her sensuality, her curves and otherworldly air

i’m the water used to clean the brushes, murky black from all colors running together, viscous and ignored

what i would give to undress her and find the signature of the creator somewhere on supple skin

kiss it gently

trails my fingers down her legs and just revel in her, bask in the wonder of beauty

but i’m the guy who mops the floors of the museum she hangs in

who passes her on the street as the wind plays with her hair

i’m the one who pays to see her, not allowed to go near the glass, loves from a distance, stands behind the line dutifully

she is a queen

i’m just a stable hand

her station blessed by divinity

mine shackled to the stone

she is a monet

i am a phony

she is art

i am paint by numbers

doesn’t change how i feel

just ensures she never knows it

in some things, the choices are not ours to make

17 thoughts on “a monet

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