Leah's Women

She never looks the same. She doesn't mince words.
She works too much. She drives around with her rescued dog.
The paint builds up in layers, repeating itself, covering it's tracks.
Her images confuse your eye, things get lost.
A torso, a tailor's form, a breast all disappear in the pink.
Fleeting women, never quite defined, never explained.
You chase some random desire with your eye, and
it leaves you just as quickly. You glimpse some piece
of beauty and can't find your way back.