A pretty ballerina sits upon a blue couch,
Her gaze deep in some reverie,
Her tutu around her hips,
Is like a dance of diamond petals,
In still repose,

Then there is Delilah,
In some blue reverie,
With her zebra pants,
She sits in her vibrant orange blouse,
Upon an abstract mosaic chair,
Perhaps wondering,
How long do have I sit here,
Been feeling kinda blue,
maybe I should have sat in still repose,
With his friend Picasso,
Or perhaps Picasso told her to chill,
With Matisse so he could brighten her up,
While he went to go paint Bardot,

Bardot perhaps missing her ballerina days,
may have wondered,
What it would've been like to sit,
in still repose,
With his buddy Matisse,
and wear a diamond petal tutu,
Like the ballerina with mango legs,

Then theres a lady chilling,
By a sweet Rose bouquet,
In a green vase,
In her loose Rose persian robe,
Still as the still vibrant pears,
In some sweet reverie,
Perhaps wondering,
Whats it like to wear a kimono,

Then theres Odalisque,
Harmony in red,
Lounging in deep serenity,
In her silver silk robe,
One breast caressed in silk,
Another breast,
caressed by the Naked light,
Perhaps she was posing one starry night,
While Van gogh was painting pretty stars,

Then theres Femme in Blouse,
In deep still repose,
Reading some book,
Her brow is fine as her porcelain gaze,
She seems pretty serene,
Perhaps the most serene,
She has ever felt,
The light like the table is cream,
Her hair is dark and so still,
It seems like it wants to dance,

And theres Femme a la mandoline,
In a sunshine yellow blouse,
She must of have gotten tired,
Of sitting on a couch,
Shes standing,
by the beachside window,
Holding a mandolin,
Theres a pair of palm trees,
Chilling by the shore with the breeze,
Her skirt is like the ocean waves,
Her gaze seems to be playing,
a sweet melody of love,

And then theres Femme a lombrelle Rose,
Shes holding a lavendar parasol,
in the plein air,
Seems like a cloudy rainy day,
But the grass is so vibrant green,
around the majestic maple tree,
Its like a green red carpet,
To Femme a la rose,
With her long brunnette hair,
Stretching to her model breasts,
Her dress is like a wanderlust cloud,
Her gaze seems to sing,
like the evening rain,
I sure would love,
to be sitting on a love sofa,
Any vibrant color would do,

And then theres,
Still life with sleeping woman,
Her hair is brunnette brown,
like a maple tree,
Green Leaves are gathering,
around her,
Like a warm embrace,
In a luminosity of light,
She seems to have fallen asleep,
Upon the majestic purple table,
Perhaps Matisse played her,
A sweet violin lullaby,
And she sighed herself to sleep,
It was perhaps the most serene,
Nap she ever slept,
She was so pretty,
the exquisite violin sweetly wept,

And then theres the woman,
In the Romanian blouse,
She has vibrant red roses,
In her long dark hair,
And her skirt,
a compassion of love,
Her gaze is serene, chill, and still,
Shes standing in exotic repose,
One hand upon her hip,
Her other hand,
holds a rose red beret,
Like shes caressing a bouquet,
Her blouse is black with lavendar flowers,
Her jacket ornate like gold,
Shes a flamenco dancer beauty,
Whose beauty vibrantly sways,
Even in its rose stillness,

And then theres a Dancer in blue tutu,
She sits upon a dining table,
An exquisite feast to the eyes,
Its like she just danced,
Out of a mango vineyard,
One sweet Summer evening,
And is chilling,
With a bouquet of irises and sunflowers,
In a green vase,
Her necklace,
of sparkling starry diamonds,
Illuminates her pretty exotic face,

And then theres a sweet nude woman,
Who has opened her lavendar robe,
Without any cares in the evening,
To the warm serenity of moonlight,
She is sweetly voluptuous,
from heel to brow,
Lounging splendidly upon a beachchair,
Like an ocean wave,
She perhaps left her gypsy fishnets,
at her loft,
or by the shore collecting seashells,
She is so comfy,
In her chill and warm sensuousness,
She is basking vibrantly,
A tender, warm, and kind serenity,

Then theres two women,
On a orange couch,
Ones in a vibrant yellow dress,
With long brunnette hair,
She leans sweetly like a crescent moon,
Into her red head model friend,
With her red rose kaleiodscope dress,
Her brunnette hair,
upon her comforting bosom,
A warm intimacy of serenity,

Perhaps these lovely Matisse models,
In awe of his vibrant genius,
Felt kinda like his orange vibrant goldfish,
and vased flowers,
Pretty and vibrant as can be,
Relaxing in rare, unique serenities
Reynaldo Casison