"Now I Battle What I Most Adore..."

[rainbowjehan]

Blah blah blah poetry blee.

Camille

Alone and slowly waning, you
tiny woman in a big bed
with the sunlight coming from some angle to wake you, you
dark-haired woman in a blue bed--

He used to paint you three times in succession,
walking in the poppies, holding
the blue umbrella, with your black bow
and your son.

He used to paint you in the garden,
mending clothes in the blue gown, while Jean was playing
with the horse on wheels.
He used to paint you in the red kimono,
with fans on the wall like skewed picture frames,
holding your own with a white hand.

And when you were dying,
bright-eyed woman with your eyes closed, you
died in the blue bed;
he painted you with your lips parted,
dreaming towards nothing.