Her Face In My Paintings

She loved me! she loved me not!

The question does not prick anymore.

Her presence is here like a twinkle in a star,

I am out of her circle, a far-fallen star.

She came into my life, I felt it destined,

Left her shadow melted with mine.

Those were the days–tepid, trivial for her.

They still trim colors for this lifelong dreamer.

I offered her a simple and singular daisy,

She chose to take the bunch of roses.

A sweet melancholy comes to sit besides,

Keeps me warm and cozy inside.

My precious past is anchored deep within,

On my blues and grays, bright red reigns.

There she may be, withered and wise,

But smiles in my paintings with a shy surprise.