because they breathe and bleed
    dark pansies and petunias
    gyrate color in hot air
    engorged, they pulse and lie still.

    did she touch herself while
    painting to get that effect?
    standing an arms length away with
    fingers on the bud and the brush?

    maybe she felt it when she
    stood back and saw
    pistils and petals in bright
    voices gleam back at her

    strokes of velvet hues
    oozing over hands
    turning verbs and vulvas
    into poppies and tulips

    maybe an iris in her
    garden turned into a set
    of lips and teeth covered
    in red and plum

    maybe they were portraits
    of her lovers, each stamen
    and stigma a shoulder, an elbow,
    a thigh

    perhaps
    they were simply sighs,
    her own deep purple orgasms
    grown on canvas

Copyright © Sherrie Weller, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.