TheBanyanTree: painting patrick

[Julie Anna Teague]

I am inspired by your perfect Modigliani face, long nose, dark pink pouty
lips and eyes, dear god, eyes brown brown deep brown, tender yummy
chocolate eyes hiding under lazy lids and then, wow, beaming when I touch
you. I am inspired to paint you.  Could you stay there, just over me, just
there, with that look that says you are pained to know you will love me
but not for long?  My still life, aside from eyes: One arm on one elbow,
poised from long neck and shoulder and ear.  Perfect porcelain body, white
Irish ass you say, soccer player's body you say, long and lean at the top
and thick and powerful from the waist down.  I want to catch you up with
brush and canvas, with camera, in poems.  Patrick, who answers the door in
pink towel.  (Ah, my friend, you are inspired too, I see.  I can't paint
you like that.  My mother might see it.  After I die.  She could go
through my things and there you'd be. My Helga.)  I think I will paint
you.  And long after you are gone, after your face has blurred to
impressionistic specs or my fickle mind has broken you up in cubist
bits--an eye, a thigh, back of neck, a scent, a wink, a tiny quirk--I will
still think of you, lovely inspiration. 

Julie