Friday, August 26, 2011

some ballad, same ol' same ol'

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!