she looks like art

like a summer haze
setting the horizon on fire

like the evening skies of
her childhood’s monsoons
that made her fall in love with
the music the Rain has to offer

like the champagne
dripping off her lips,
forming little trails like
rivers fed by the Sin within,
rolling down the hollows of her clavicles

a reminder of days well spent,
leather-like skin acting as armour
against the pain;

She earned the scars and dents
on her bronze,
just like the pale, soft skin
in nooks and corners
the sun forgot to burn

Shades of wrong
or shades of right ?
No one knows for sure.
Because she is
the Sadist and the Masochist,
complete on her own.

Brown eyes melt into gold
when the sun hits them just right;
When the heavens
unleash the fury within,
and the downpour has
made her heady with it’s earthy scent,
all her colours break free;

Seamless, endless –
like the kaleidoscope
on an artist’s palette

The Rain is a muse for so many.
And sometimes, if you’re lucky enough,
you might just be able to
lean over your balcony
and catch a glimpse of her –

standing there as the cars go by;
hair dripping wet,
raindrops rolling off her face,

a piece of Art in a world that doesn’t care.

2 thoughts on “she looks like art

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