Picasso, you would understand   my grandiose exchange with famed paintings is suddenly nullified  as she glides past— luminescent, handing smiles to strangers like daisies.   I anxiously observe. she meditates on every painting, and slowly moves to the next. I’m scared. words jumble away and rapture into flames, flames in my chest, in my bones.   suddenly, I give not a damn about these paintings. I’m sorry Matisse, I apologise Monet, Picasso, you would understand.   she is older than me, taller than me, an artwork in her own right. I pass her several times stealing smiles. her spider-leg…