The New Model, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Silently she stood as if a statue.
My canvas is like winter’s fallen snow
While I am frozen as the earth below.
The paint brush refuses to move on cue.
Most beautiful woman I would argue
One more heavenly one could never know
With a softness of skin that has a glow.
I fear to blink and lose this perfect view.
Signaling by hand she begins to turn
By single degree her movement is slow.
I wait for her to create a shadow
On her curvaceous body which I yearn.
The more I study her the more I burn
To the point feelings not able to stow.
In my eyes desire is starting to show
To save myself the session must adjourn.
As if she were an angel in a dream
Her svelte body slid behind the curtain
Only to reappear as a beacon
Rendering me into a wisp of steam.
With teeth against my tongue so not to scream
Any action I am doomed for certain.
By the devil I’ve been deeply bitten
Evilly poisoned with his hellish scheme.