You trace
a scarlet fingernail
over each drawing
with such longing.
Your middle finger
lingers
traces again
its beauty.
“These are amazing! ”
“So...sensual! ”
“Such a beautiful line! ”
“Who are they by? ”
“Some guy called
(don’t know anything about him)
Tauzin.”
“They were done
in the ‘30’s
believe it or not! ”
“Looks like they were
done just now
they’re some contemporary! ”
On scattered pages
the lovers make love
line flowing
into line
delicately
beautifully
us too
in bed
now upon the scattered pages
now upon the floor
reproduce the sinuous lines
we so admire
trace the outlines
of our own desire.
Art
for
art’s
sake?
A well hung Utamaro
smiling behind
the glass frame
catching
the setting sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem