Painted Lady

He fell in love with a painted lady. She moved in mauve, Her limbs sweeping in clouds of gold That broke the monotony of his glass life. Her presence brought hailstorms, Navy rain that streaked her cheeks And stained lips tasting of peaches. She danced in her own supernova, Yards of brilliant bronze hair Filling his mouth, his nose, his ears, More flavor than hue; More scent than shade; More song than any color Her swirling body could produce. When he was with his painted lady, He knew no shades of gray; Her moods were rose and plum and sky, She his lovely painted lady. They tangled beneath stars, Each moment brighter than the last. In the fervor of their love His days faded into months Which streaked into years Until the cool blue morning When his beloved painted lady Released her last bleeding scarlet breath.