💗Longing
A R T
Nanda Regine
She was so devoid of colourShe had no idea what it meantHer contours lay contradictedTo her prim and proper polished demeanourHe fought to be the paintbrushThat defined her rigid flawsHis signature strokes like a lover's touchThat she was never ready forBut her canvas saddened day by dayFrom his scarring bristle brushHer curves of shame dropped tears of bitter inkAs it covered the marks he left on display
— Nanda Regine
From “Inside Her Roses”