Modigliani Monday
seeking
the horizon
after Portrait of Lunia Czechowska
soul
laid bare, that
strange
positon of
being
without disguise
feelings
etch on
wooden
block, lines
drawn
in earnest
timidity
disappears,
Amadeo stands
in
short
sleeves, tangled
hair tousled,
slipping between
Italian
and sips of
brandy,
soon he
forgets
she exists,
reaching
for bottle or brush
canvas
eyes, gently singing
songs
of his heart while
he lays
siege to hers.
Raise
your head,
he tells
her; be strong
proud
that the distance
you see
is yours to find.
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