I recline voluptuously on the chaise lounge, or as I prefer, Recamier. A violet ribbon loosely contains my slightly tussled chestnut hair. A wisp coyly covers the corner of my right eye. Cheeks blush with lingering passion. Your warmth lingers on my partly exposed breast. Sighs echo on moist parted lips. Eyes shimmer with nostalgia. Arms open to vacancy.
“It must be believable,” you had coaxed.
My fertile flesh welcomes damp paint as it blends pale with rose. Pupils sting as touches of sapphire blue reveal nascent questioning. Paint thickens as it ignites regret and helpless panic. Likeness blurs into opaqueness as canvas and flesh merge with each stroke of paint.
My mouth barely whispers why?
as color suffocates breath.