Sonnet of the Artist
by Amber C Brodie
Oh, if only I could paint you over.
I would give you locks of blond and blue eyes.
More cheeks, more biceps, less stubble, less lies,
And use my brush to bring back my lover.
As I watch you sleep, I see him in you,
like some blurred, watercolored day dream.
I draw his image out and let it gleam.
Yet as I gaze, it flies to that coast too.
Oh, why must my feet be rooted on this sod?
I must sculpt, for he does not exist here.
I step back and behold my model God.
And I lay here with my opus; one year.
My dear, as I lie across your barren chest,
Can you hear a foreign beat within my breast?