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Her Loved One

May 7, 2011

She sketches me, her loved one.
“Relax,” she tells me
and I tell her “I am.”

Once we spent a whole Sunday,
spent, not wasted,
me lying on the couch
and her alternating between smiles and frowns,
telling of my every inch with her pencil.

This time, it is a bust,
like that of a Greek God.

I feel like a God,
though admittedly not as elegant nor powerful;
I must stop frowning.

The God of Love maybe.
No, that would be hypocritical.
I have no control over love,
my own or anyone else’s.

The God of War perhaps?
Alas, who could love the God of War?

Who would sketch the God of War, lovingly?

Perhaps not a God at all then.
For what mortal would be so foolish
as to involve themselves with the Gods?

She sketches my unkempt brows,
my ungroomed hair,
and a nose believed too large by its owner.

She sketches my flaws, lovingly.

She shows all my imperfections,
in such great detail,

and yet, she does not see them.
She loves them all.

And a portrait such as this cannot truly render human flaws,
failures and weakness.

But I am painfully aware. My mortality.

No God at all then, but a mere mortal,
her loved one.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. Mariga permalink
    May 7, 2011 10:12 pm

    Wow powerful x

  2. ohshewrites permalink
    May 8, 2011 4:58 am

    Lovely! I especially like the first two stanzas… something about the rhythm is wonderful.

    • May 8, 2011 9:16 am

      Thanks, for the positive remarks and for commenting. I just had a look at your blog and couldn’t resist the subscribe button.

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