the lover from across the room

he was the kind of man who was an
amazing lover
not just when you were in his arms
kissing him
but also when he is standing over
your shoulder, guiding your eye
across the naked figure on your page

and when his hand touches yours
to pick up the charcoal from where
it smudges your fingers
it makes you want to drop the dusty stick
to hold his hand
to hold him in place
except for drawing him closer
so that his chest is against your back

and even when he chuckles at you
from across the room
smiling his teasing smile
you know exactly how his hands would be on your body
and you want it

when he's in the room he makes it impossible
to concentrate on your art
even if he is simply standing in the corner
flipping through pages of Matisse or Renoir
sipping his coffee
you can't help but wonder what he is thinking
if his thoughts are straying like yours are
and you ache with jealousy after his wife
or even
his child
just to be loved by a man like that
the lover from across the room



I've always been in awe of his talent
but simply crave
the chance
the one chance
a single opportunity
for my classmates to have to leave early
and that before I disappear into the darkness
that the night outside holds
he calls me back
to hand me the sketchbook
that I had accidentally purposely left behind

he hands me the book then hugs me goodnight
and my head rests on his shoulder for a long time
until he kisses the top of my head
and releases me
but not to be sent away;
to be brought back to drink in his lips

the book clatters to the floor
Renoir forgotten
and he almost stops
but I murmur "shhh"
until my lips meet his again
and his hands are back on my body

after that
the image is fuzzy
only focusing on moments like
him telling me I'm beautiful
as he buries his face in between my breasts
and when he comes
with my hands in his unruly hair
because his face was too beautiful
too intense
to be unmemorable

afterwards
I lay on the stage where we made love
he stands up
walks across the room
picks up my sketchbook
and draws me
naked
tousled by his hands

a page to preserve the memory
of the lover from across the room