Still Life

Her life stood still as he painted her with his Picasso like strokes,
A statue even, molded out of her past, who stood there before him strong and proud
But his as he chipped away at her exterior he exposed her, and she let him, she let his words seep into her ears mind and soul with false hope and promises echoing throughout
She stood there helpless baring all.
She got lost in his eyes, lips ,and lies, believing in him
But as Steve Wynn poked a hole in Picasso’s Dream
He poked a hole in hers
He was Botero and she was his object of desire
Little did she know that his cupboards were full of inadament objects,
Portraits, paintings, that were all tucked away in his little black book of conquests
only to be looked at on occasion once the dust settled.
He showed her his book, his colors, his art.
She knew all along but did not want to believe that she too would be just another sketch in his book.