Wally pulls up her slip, reveals her white thigh, revels in
my sharply suppressed sigh. A shy simple sylph?
Nonsense.
She emboldened in watching my face,
used to being perused. Absently, she gently shifts
her head, aware as I look at her legs instead.
She’s not cheap,
just ahead of society.
Though there’s a price
to be paid for triangles, she doesn’t mind.
We both adore her.
Hardship holding still and worth the price, haunting
galleries, watching others watch. Most don’t know
that thigh. Those who do, feel inclusion.
Partnership is part of the inner circle, though they will
never encircle that thigh.
She’s allowed to be endowed by us both.
We try to out-paint each other. The prize is her
approval, that sunrise smile. Refuse recognition,
immortalization itself? Never! I paint in orange desire,
he in glorious gold.
