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First 
Rue Huang 

Gustav Klimt, The Kiss, 1907-1908**

it is dawn,
amidst the poppy field is a freshly left bed,
slept-in pillows still rising like warm dough,
unmade blankets ruffled like blooming roses.

last night his face came so close to hers
everything else slipped away from the
peripheral of her moonlit cheekbones,
closer, warmer, they touched lightly – like dry static –

fingers sealed into a tight embrace,
faces turned faceless,
meshed patterns of nightgowns shimmered
into a glowing lantern in the dark.

his touch was paint drying
on canvas, on her shrinking skin,
drying to his caress: an end of a beginning,
an anticipation quenched

by flesh, temptations frozen into
metal bedframes, curiosity unraveled into
looming tenderness,
a beginning.

 

it is dawn,
the first light coppers the sky,
the field of poppies nod in unison,
the bed is emptied, the field, emptier.

**To view Gustav Klimt’s painting, follow this link.

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