Blush, I Paint Poem by James McLain

I never knew
how much effort
a denuded face of color
men to you.
Yes we take for granted
artificial epidermal
pigment brushes stroke
is waisted time
not to you.
Water mark is lightly lain
upon your breathing
shore no tears will
wash away.
Lines of beauty stand
transfixed when
pictures mix the essence
deep inside is you.
We make some noise we
get so jealous
we want you never changed
the way you are.
Shooting colored saffron
precious tone of skin into
our one tract running unpainted
mind.