She took care
outlining my curves, my face,
the crook of my left elbow, my lips.
She loved my form
with every stroke.
All fingers and paint—
rough brush touched no surface.
I am lines of sunshine made colors,
birthed from her mind onto canvas.
She caressed life into my browns
daubed a bit of pink over my breasts
and some blue on my aura for balance.
She admires flesh
stretching confidently around bones.
She painted me shouting, “I am luscious,
natural, precious, goddess nude—
I am woman.”
Nude, by Shelle Kennedy
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Weekly Scribblings #74: Painted Tales.