Lisa Mona

My Mona Lisa is spoilt; I can see the strokes of dirt on its once beautiful and mysterious smile

I can literally see through her, she is not the same.

I used to stand in the museum all day long, marveling at her cruel beauty.

I always had the impression that she was looking back at me.

People would pass by me and say that I am a fool.

I knew I wasn’t, she had these incredible Sfumato layers of paint that made her left side stand out.

She was in harmony with herself.

She was a perfect pentacle, yin & yang in one and that used to turn me on as hell.

See, most of the greatest paintings are truly pointless. We struggle trying to  give them a meaning and that's their trick.

Funny how art makes fun of us!

Her nubile body is still there but it doesn’t send the same longing to my loins.

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