A summer night (A poem about art)

Its late at night,
The soft breeze is blowing gently against her skin.
She is hiding from something,
Could it be me?

I have loved her always,
I love the way she used to smile.
She is hiding from something,
Could it be me?

I reached for her delicate hand,
She gave a sudden gasp and pulled it away.
She is hiding from something,
Could it be me?

She looks me in the eye,
She tells me everything in her calm, smooth voice.
She is hiding from something,
But it isn’t me.