Patricia Defechereux
Lava lamp
To Amadeo Modigliani
A reclining nude captive in curve carving strokes. Raw, perhaps in the moist aftermath of rapture. Yellow globules drift, merge, greedy against aqua washed walls. Eyes as dark as Belgian chocolate melting on tongue.Lips (offered), brazen gaze.
* * * *
Howling at almost midnight: liquid zero gravity. Thoughts give way to fingers to canvas. Dense, fears rise, undulate; words stay seated starved. Moonbeams, a coffee mug balanced on a journal. Nudity breathes in every recess, exquisite, embodied in soft hard smoothness.Incense searing silk. Spring rains brought him home.
* * * *
"Will you wear those green surgical pants that are pulled down so easily? Will you lay, pearls of sweat on your back, rolling ripe fruits on distant skin? Someday, will you be folded like some precious parchment?" And given back to her - hidden in the creases of memory?
* * * *
Images have danced late into amber skies, unaware of Sunday mornings orange peels testifying under bed. Slowly, she absorbs pigments, dissolves -- in reclining captivity.