Artist's Jug

I am her jug , her brushes rest in me
I hear her sing while mixing paint today
And feel the cold water, wet and icy
I wish she would listen and hear me say

Warm hands grip my handle, my sexy curve
Her nudes often have the very same pose
I wish it was fine wine that I could serve
As she paints the scene her mind has now froze

Instead its poison mixed with flailing brush
Sharp, bitter essence like lime tree’s fruit
When will the artist empty the foul mush
And savour a cool sweetness that I suit

Anger burns my glaze as I sit and seethe
Then with her tender care comes her touch
My bath, lavender scented warmth I breathe
The stench lifts and I know her need is such

Soft muslin cloth wipes away the dark stains
By a new creation I stand with pride
She couldn’t do it alone, hence my pains
Just a jug, its me she keeps by her side.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.