Artisan

Her hands,

large, but delicate.

Her fingernails,

Bitten, cracked, unadorned.

She is painting an old,

French, sanded-down headboard,

Antique gold.

Why is she painting so meticulously,

Her face, masked in concentration?

I knew you would come, she said,

As she removed her apron

And, naked, moved through the cold room

Towards me