Wally begins to dress,
The modelling's done.
He’s off somewhere,
Some drink or fuck or
Meeting of the like.
The session went quite
Well, not too long, not
Too awkward a pose
Or two, not too cold
In the chilling studio.
She pulls on her white
Underwear, feels the
Cotton against her skin,
The security, the all too
Humanness once again.
She views herself in the
Tall mirror he has against
A wall; sees herself in full.
Puts on the slip, then the
Pink blouse, then skirt and
Finally the black stockings.
It’s all business nowadays,
No more afterward fucks
And smokes or lying down
Jokes about the neighbours
Across the street, or the odd
People that you've met or
Expect to meet. No, just the
Posing, the pose, all over now,
Wally’s thinks, the pretend
Love, the hot lust, I suppose.
Others have his eye and love
Or lust and fuck she assumes
Now, dampening a finger and
Wiping it across her brow,
Pursing her lips in a make
Believe kiss, embracing her
Body, thinking it him, closing
Her eyes, saying, that’s how
It goes, that’s how love dies.
WALLY BEGINS TO. (STRONG LANGUAGE)
Re: WALLY BEGINS TO. (STRONG LANGUAGE)
The real life Wally was a model for Egon Schiele.
- judih
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Re: WALLY BEGINS TO. (STRONG LANGUAGE)
there's a lightness of touch in your words, so well reflecting the ease of the line in the painting
Re: WALLY BEGINS TO. (STRONG LANGUAGE)
Thank you, Judih.
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