The Painter or He Loves Many

he peacocks his brushes
jungle-izing his palate
dips his knife into the amazon
to paint, paint, paint.
the rhino, the everest,
canyons and autumn leaves
catch not his attention.
but the dip of her hip
the dye of her eye
the smoulder of her shoulder
the alarm of her arm
the beg of her leg
the stay awhile of
her smile
deliciously adorn his canvas.
short, long, wide, they abide
and subside
his torment.
it is women and only women
the he
paints, paints, paints

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