Painted Lady Poem by Kay Francis

We found the Painted Lady in repose,
lying on a blanket of floral lace,
her Chagall-like wings spread wide,
lifelessly still, waiting for him to descend
and worship her slender body with his.

Like voyeuristic gods, we watched
while these elegant
lighter-than-air spirits made their love.
Humbled by the beauty
and reverence of the moment,
we bowed our heads in awe
and narrowed the distance between us.

How right and rare our privilege
to witness their sacred coitus,
to be allowed to trade places
with the god and goddess
of some parallel paradise
who watched our vestal communion
through the black lace of last night.