Mannequins

He moves
panther like grace
stalking
looking
hunting
his next prey.
An art gallery
filled with mannequins
of all shapes
colors
styles.
All women.
All
with a look of terror
etched on their faces.
He calls this
‘Women Scorned’
his collection
critically acclaimed
with a dark secret.
Missing only one
a redheaded bitch
he has yet to make her pay.
She awakens
naked
tied down
masked face above her
grinning
smiling
listening to her
screaming
terror filled
knowing
he will put her down.
Under dawn’s breaking light
he positions her
red hair streaked with gold
lips a brilliant blue
one hand upon her hip
the other
coyly covering her breast.
his art
the culmination of his dream.
An army of women
so lifelike
critics and fans agree
you can feel them watching
as you walk through the room.
Each one rejected him
laughing at cupid’s arrow
only to awaken
under his care
as he reduced them
to skin and bones
forgetting their names.
December 13/18
Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash
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Splendor

He was brutal.

He was rage.

He was ice and fire

passion flaming from his pores.

Loud

proud

handsome

lover of all women

and not a few men.

His work

genius creations

bold in color

sharp in style

made not a few

but many cry.

An aesthete

true

unlike most

who pretend

who are blind

to the beauty in all

in everything.

Photo by Art by Lønfeldt on Unsplash