Another cigarette, it was those days, Or what could be a cause to be free To refocus, to lose focus, to dilate the pupils and stare, to fix Another cup of tea.
You leave your sitter spread out, angled and let your finger linger on the canvas as you make your way to the bare bathroom halfway down the stair. Her bare knee continues to defy,
Seamless toes predict resolution. The door is spry, but light and the sigh resulting, a sigh of walnut oil and shy chemnitz white, a new shadow calls out now free from the rub
against morning’s yellow reflected white of Marleybone: the call of afternoon’s fading light. You unclip this canvas, store it face to the wall leaving the key in the door on the way down to the club.