PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I felt it in the winding streets
or in the museum, standing before a masterpiece.
looking at each stroke of color, laid down with such allure
I'd look into the painting and feel something I'd never felt
was it a fantasy
or a memory
I'd see you
you're dressed in rich Italian embroidery
or French silks,
or English satins and velvet, full Edwardian gale
i'd see you in a piazza, the sounds of strings and horses
or through the haze of absinthe and cigarettes in a candlelit cafe
or through a shop window on a London side street.
I'd see you. I'd break through whatever barrier the time had put there
and I'd go to you
your skin beckons to me
your delicate lips speaking nothing, but calling to me
your eyes glistening to my gaze
I'd go to you
i'd ask you to come to my studio
to model for me
to give yourself to me
against all conventions
come to me
share your beauty
give me your essence
inspire me

You'd come to my studio
it's 1559
a sundrenched barn in Florence
or 1889
in a rooftop loft in Paris
or 1920
in the english countryside

you'd spend lazy afternoons
your alabaster skin alight in the sun
your gaze languished
you hear my charcoal scratch across paper
you look over to see me
paper scattered everywhere
your curves here
there
you hear the chip, chip chip of a hammer on stone
see your form taking shape from raw marble
or take in the scent of oils, a thousand colors melded to canvas

through the centuries
you're there
handing forth your soul
trusting
loving
watching yourself be transformed
a thousand times
a thousand ways
glowing renaissance skin
impressionist flare
over and over
I was there
taking you in
translating you to my vision
and over and over
you inspire those who see the results
you live on
in museums
and collections
around the world

I gazed at that Courbet painting in Paris
I see this vision
this fantasy
or this memory

was I there?
were you that inspiration

Over and over again

was this a vision
or a memory..