He draws aside the curtain
Tantamount to indiscretion,
Though it is just for us to see
A painter pausing at his easel,
And his model, a woman demure
Beyond conceiving, who, a tease, will
Smile, eyes closed, supremely sure
The man has never seen a lovelier.
The painter never has either,
And though he has an affection
For searing late afternoon sunlight,
For stillness rendered perfection,
It is all a blind for sexual delight.