In Soho's summer evening steam
We sipped our flutes of chardonnay,
Blending pretense with small wisdom
While we strip searched what to say.
She wiped away some finger paint
On her tie-dyed camisole,
Disheveled now near her canvas
That bares as much my soul.
Lured with wine and crème brûlée,
Tonight I am her willing minion
As my artist glides this way
With each of us now swollen.
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