30 poems in 30 days challenge! Day 3
The Prima Donna sang while he painted.
She swirled through a lyrical melody,
He brushed a stroke of blue serenity on a white canvas.
She strung a low note with dramatic intensity,
He drew a circle of melancholy, bold black and centered.
Her pitch and tempo rose; high and fast,
He splattered crimson onto it with passion.
Her voice was building into a crescendo,
He knew better than to stop now.
A swish of anger,
A smear of dread,
A trace of eternal bliss!
Then suddenly she stopped.
It was his modern art masterpiece.
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