A Painting

Crawl into the painting,
slip in between strokes,
wrap up in warm colour.
It hangs there waiting,
in a drab sitting room,
dust over its entrance,
broken bottles below.
Beauty in chemicals,
powdered still waves,
an idyllic harbour,
away from the storm.
She stands there silently,
looking out to the seven seas,
water coloured by her charm.
A face that was never painted,
a familiar soul,
with welcoming arms,
beckoning the oceans,
inviting us to escape.