Ancient statue. No face, no hands, existing naked. I am carried away, bewitched, bewildered in those spaces of absence. The mind is fleshing out the details, private fantasies, perversions glossed in.

A distant beauty. I am not part of the story, still, I will take her body.

Revealed, untouchable. Unreserved.

Naked, devoid of romance.

Of course, I desire to touch her. She lives in painting – a reality separate from mine. As I gaze dwelling and compelled, I think, I’d like to melt into hers.

Woman, so distant. Obsessed with question, I confront our connection; unsure if she leads a life of her own, or rather solely exists for the frame, no mind, no heart of her own, she is merely a silhouette made from white paint.