Carpe Diem (Poem)

Carpe Diem

Stripped to nothing
more than the scrim of a dress,

she plays at being your muse.
A milky stretch of skin not

yet caressed by another's hands
frames what you have

to paint before the light forces
your eye up to meet her own.

After, in the hollows of her
face you limn so softly shadows

lead away from what once you dared.

© 2013 Maureen E. Doallas
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This poem is my response to today's photo prompt at Tess Kincaid's Magpie Tales. Go here to see the image by Daniel Murtagh, to read other writers' poems or flash fiction, or to add a link to your own contribution.