by Anna Ruiz
Who are you to ask me to paint a self-portrait
when all I have are these hollow words?
I am bent with the weight of colour
the taste of raw umber and apricot
oozing from my mouth.
Cherry blossom pink, deep fuchsia and
Egyptian blue like little feathers of devotion
dance on my skin.
I am fading into Han purple, Heliotrope, and Harlequin nights,
take this paintbrush I offer you,
I am your blank canvas,
you are my golden temple.
Let us not fall in love
turn our vessels into graves,
our tears into fire.
Copyright © 2009 by Anna Ruiz