How am i supposed to be able to re-capture that breeze in this sketch?…. How
too ensnare, in oil and pastel, its rapped ubiquitous flux that swirled, through
the black night sky, the browning falling leaves from those trees swaying in
the back-setting  of the finest moment of our romance.

How to capture that breeze that seamlessly carried this second act from its
first act….
That breeze that intergraded;… That became wholly, the beseeching of intimacy
and lust: As i imagined its long fine thin fingered currents jostling for a grope
of the firm biracial meat of your ass;
before working its-self down, calmly, down and through the gap of your thighs
and (i take a long deep sniff, even in  write… then, AHHHH, exhale) your crotch,
while simultaneously weaving its-self through the rusty links of the chain-link
swing set that sat empty in the park at the end of your street….
That pushed its-self through, still simultaneously, the weeping limbs of a willow
tree two blocks away…..
While still, simultaneously, spilled through the open screened in doorways and
windows of suburban cottages, neighborhood’s, towns…, districts away (swishing
about through their cluttered rooms; blooming the musky aroma of fine stolen
moments of youthful nostalgia from its aged occupants).

How am i to sketch this subtlety into a Still-Life…. How your beauty? (that was,
in every essence, the ways that you moved)
How those distorted echoed sounds of the neighborhood kids at play?
Or the over-head limbs of those trees rubbing and creaking,… lost in their
own entangled caresses above us?
Or of our feet on the graveled driveway, shifting and scratching at the loose
rough surface?… Or…
Or that same inconspicuous undertow, that not only kept the bearing of both
time and space, but also our organic description of Art, Lust, and Philosophy
(which by the way, is native to neither our new modern dogmatic religions,
nor our new modern dogmatic sciences)…
How indeed am i too accomplish all…, or even any of this, in this silent,
odorless, two dimension thing… we call, Still-Life?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s