An Afternoon With Amedeo Modigliani Poem by Yiennarda Enk

My shawl is on the floor
My garments everywhere
I sensed my soul soar
As the breathe of air stroked my bareness

The afternoon was getting cold, I had nothing on me
I was with this man, gaping at my physicality
I tried to hunt beyond those eyes
But they were just so vivid… and also oblivious

He gently prodded me into a velvet divan
He nodded, looking at the blue cushion
He was silent, no hint of chatter
His gasps are only what I hear

For a second our eyes met
I shuddered…
I realized he wants me to recline
I abided…

The sun rays perfectly angled,
To my body… he studied
The brush strokes began
And so it started

I blinked three times
I was bashing a meaningful glimpse
I tapped my fingers rested on my hips
Suddenly I felt shyness and so I bit my lip

Please Amedeo, look through my heart… not just my breast
Look through my smiles and the joy it begets
Discover my free spirit… not just my submission
Use my love as your paint,
Coz I refuse to be just one of your impressions

But it’s just Amedeo… so familiar with beauty
It’s just Amedeo… so inventive in his cruelty
So tied up with his brushes, paint and passion
I will never understand his peculiar mind

How can I love him and hate him…
Only a subject, today I am for him
I bare it all… damn, I gave it all
But in his canvas tomorrow, I’ll be immortal