You painted a self-portrait wearing your favorite
snood. Without a look of remorse before the mirror.
Hey, Irish, see that gypsy under the pepper tree?
She’s my role model. You wore her indigo outfit.
From your studio, smelling of jasmine as you
posed, standing on the alabaster floor. Your tourmaline
eyes grey clouds, jade ring clinking on the floor
every few seconds. Let’s shudder ourselves outside
to watch the eclipse, I’ll be Eurydice, and you Orpheus.
I didn’t like that deal, thought your heart isinglass
instead of a red carnation. And your lips. Your lips
brighter than fox fire. I said, I need to polish my soul
a little, so you finish your self-portrait, ambled
into the studio, finished my anemone tea
and then you said, Now I’ll be Orpheus. I smiled, Well,
just don’t wear your amethyst necklace next time.