The Muse

He stares at me with a look in his eyes
Which makes me blush and feel proud
He tells me that I am beautiful
And that he not only loves me,
But I am the reason for his existence.

I surrender to his will
Joy fills my heart with each stroke of his
He is my creator
And I, his slave in love.
I am his muse -
The soul of his paintings.

From the completed painting
I enter his heart, my true home.
Where I stay
Until he picks up yet another canvas.

Poem written on demand for an artist from Italy. Shared with his permission. This is muse's version, original is from painter's point of view.

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Books by Arti Honrao

Depression is REAL

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