Black and White Nude
Amanda Reynolds

I.  Prologue

I’d like to paint your spine with umber,

            sprinkle your back with obvious words:

            tactile, nubile, nude,

            label, hollow, poet,

            plunder.

I’m no longer an aesthetic deadbeat.  If only you smoked,

            patchouli ashes falling from your fingers,

            I’d taste the ground you lie on.

            I wish that you were

            fire-engine red.

II.  Afterward

I wish I’d never asked for wine when you were only made

            of water.  Are my pinks too close to grigio?

            My milk too sour yellow?

            Your still-life is lacking all and any

            verve.

No, the shadows the light threw were not enough.

            You didn’t feel as warm as you once looked.

            Suffice to say, you’d never

            have interested me, except

            in black and white.