hair half down, half scooped
into a pseudo-forties
sixties style, but here
the soles of her feet
are blue as if
she's been walking
on twilight—
though
with her legs in an erotic
V, pin-up
swimsuit, brooding
Ava Gardner cheekbones posed,
musing, above a heap of pink
in its own gold V
of a cone, she's emphatically
all flesh,
and yet, eyes wide,
she seems to be wondering
at herself, wondering
what is this body that yearns for sweets, whose
are these eyes transcribing
mine, & whose this body already
remembering mine, as he
uncovers my luscious
impasto, while murmuring
(to me or to himself?)
"It's just like heroin, once
you get a taste of it." *
[*"It's just like heroin....": Wayne Thiebaud on painting]