the painters bent brush
the smear of rank oil
that labour elation that
nothing can spoil
the pallet in hand
the smock that he wore
the key he had gilded
was strung from the door
the joy comes infrequently
pay hardly ever
and then you're derided
they're in it together
i sat for you daily
at my husbands will
knowing how hard it was
to smile at will
you asked me to look at
a work in progress
and then i first saw myself
thru your finesse
it's not how i saw you
it's how you saw me
the way you caught sensual
raw energy
my senses cold sparked in me
up thru my chest
each sunset i'll visit him
that suits me best
he'd paid and commanded him
for a portrait...
his wife must be captured
before it's too late
he knew that she had him
her secret was out
she wouldn't resist it
she wasn't devout
she slowly revealed to him
one laced up stocking
and pulled up her silk skirts
the stool gently rocking
solicit ecstasy
after each day
a painter all smug there
when she went away
he found them together
her seat on his head
''heres something else hot for you''
two bullets. dead
he'd flattered her vanity
she'd grabbed his lust
and now they're both compost
it was ever thus!