Bent over the book, beside me,
you squat forward on the edge
of a dingy cushion-plumped couch,
your thighs splayed, and your face almost-flushed,
and you finger through the glossed pages, and,
at first, it seems to be a means of avoiding
talking face-to-face...(and I love this thing:
this wanton colour way down
underneath your skin...
it fills me with a peach-napped joy...)

...but, then, the floury pictures-
farinaceous pastelles, smudged charcoals,
unctuous oils-on-smeared-canvas-
the powdered pictures become a reason:
What do you see there? you ask me.
I trace a prostitute's overripe rump
with my finger.
(My hand brushes your knuckle as briefly
as a drunken moth might skim a light-bulb).
What would a man see here? you persist,
in your lovely male bravado,
and you say the word...
you throw it into the air,
and I catch it without thought, like a dumb corkboard
hungrily reaching for the bliss of the oncoming dart...

You turn the page.
What do you like here?
I stroke a breast dangling from a whore
like a speckled yellow pear from a tree.
What do you see? you press me (le pressoir...).
The weight, I answer.
I turn to you, and our eyes attach;
our eyes are turgid leeches in an orchard
guzzling blood from the peasants'
damp and hidden creases.

Absentmindedly, I hold my fingertips to my lips,
and, soft seconds later, wondering how they got there,
take them away again.
Your fingertips are square and blunt.
The nails are little blank faces that speak of
hard work and brutal scrubbing with a brush.

You turn the page.
They say the women hated him, I tell you,
traitorously...
They hated him for portraying them
without their artifice.
(You say something- I can't remember, now,
what it was. I laugh and lean coquettishly
toward your shoulder.)

Do you like this one? you ask.
The glowing puta is bent forward, standing in a low tub,
her naked hind concealed, but exposed to whoever
might care to imagine.
I trace a deliberate line with my finger, and,
withdrawing, my hand brushes your knee.
Yes, I reply... Yes, I like it...
You turn the page.