The portrait
Gestures we would like to make in the solitude of a café terrace ... Early in the morning ... She's sitting there, seems shivering. Grey dress, red scarf. Her eyes move. I try to meet them - small, vague black clouds which pass, without resting, by mine. She drinks her coffee, eats her cake. I wish she were a portrait. To admire it openly, without shifting my stare. With bewilderment if I felt so. But we can't explore a warm body, eyes that see, a mouth that eats and drinks, curls that twine and untwine on the shoulders ... I want to frame her entire image ... make her my prisoner, with my hands free to move, my lips to speak, without blushing ... Tell her crazy words inspired by the moment ...
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Other stories by Erika Byrne-Ludwig
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Intriguing
"I want to frame her entire image ... make her my prisoner, with my hands free to move, my lips to speak, without blushing ..."
Good work
Sensual. My, my....
"She's sitting there, seems shivering." There's a tense discordancy there between the verbs sitting and seems. It is that which then creates the effective little frisson. In cinema we have the jump cut. In jazz the note which goes off on its own tangent. So in prose we can break with compositional norms.
Lovely portrait. *
Yes, I see the resemblance. This is excellent, Erika *
Thank you to everyone here. I appreciated your excellent comments.
Foster, I thought you might see some similarities.
"I want to frame her entire image"
You have!
*
Have I? Many thanks, Bill.
Excellent.
Nice of you, Gary. Thanks.