Post by goldenmyst on Nov 16, 2019 18:33:19 GMT -6
Art Takes Courage
Rowena’s sapphire eyes burn the color of deep blue arctic ice. She lies naked, entangled in linen sheets. The room is illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. Syrian rugs hang from the wall, their arabesque designs bring back memories for them of the intricate mosaics in the walls of Damascus were they spent their honeymoon. John used to love to run his fingers over the inlaid stones, tracing the patterns and feeling a sense of beauty beyond words.
That feeling comes back with full force as he gazes at his lovely bird, her form outlined beneath the sheets. She gazes up at him with her china-blue eyes and their eyes meet in a sharing of intimate knowledge of each other.
John opens the door to a world of luxury such as Croesus lived. “A parting is in order. Your starving artist husband is of the past and you are married to a Roman Praetor in the flesh with gold coinage to bring luster to your eyes.”
Ro says, “When my eyes are the wine light with you sheltered under my hips are we not once more upon our nuptial bed?”
“Art is a fool’s game whose only profit is peeling paint on the walls of Pompeian vanity.”
Rowena tells him, “My love for you began with that paint howsoever flaked. Please, please don’t turn in your brush for what will crush our rose into fallen petals to wither on the ground.”
The smoke from the candles coils upward like snakes. They can smell the jasmine burning in the mother of pearl inlaid incense burner sitting on the cherry wood table. John watches mesmerized as Rowena stretches, cat-like, beneath the sheets. She has such a feline grace in her movement that he feels the burning desire to clasp her peaks and feel her soft flesh, succulent as ripe tomatoes in his palms.
John says, “We will sit high in the Colosseum overlooking a game which profits us amply.”
Rowena exclaims “How could you take pleasure in giving poor Romans bread and circuses instead of the good life?”
“Ro, this break is big enough for our mutual joy. Opportunity knocks but once and if we tell it to go away it parts without returning. You shall retain your own personal wardrobe designer for tailored tunics instead of moth-eaten drapery.”
“I am glad to share my threadbare garb with the moths who surely must dine too. Frankness behooves me at this juncture. To behold gladiatorial combat which as your wife I will be obliged to witness is not a life I fancy. My marriage was to an artist whose newfound career depicting lingerie models pleased me greatly. But workers need more than sports and fair wages should be promoted instead of brutality.”
“How self-righteous thou art. Who art thou to set forth to the plebeians what they need? Dost thou heart find our union onerous?”
And Rowena said, “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy Patricians shall be my Patricians, and thy Emperor my Emperor. But please let us return to this patio on our anniversaries to look at your depiction of me on the wall and remember simpler times. Your portrait of me is more precious than any statue of me by a sculptor.” Rowena’s tears come unbidden like hungry orphans on streets paved in lost dreams.
John says, “Hey Ro, let’s bring wine to this deliberation and pretend like all that passed need no more be heeded than a dream which wakefulness will mend. Sometimes upward mobility means climbing the steps to our apartment where the sound of children playing is heard from the streets.”
Rowena’s smile bursts through the cloud of her tears until laughter becomes her voice. She says, “Please believe me that I would have stayed by your side even in the palace. But our garret is quite comfortable and the only creature comfort I’d appraise for your consideration is a new mattress for our bed.”
“Honey, greed nearly toppled the walls of my good sense. I petition thee to give unto me your absolution that our domesticity may find concord.”
“Consider it done. I’m nostalgic about our current mattress. Let’s make love on it a few more times before we send it away.”
“Perhaps, we could cushion our budget as well by your securing employment outside the home.”
Ro replies, “I have pondered that far and wide. And indeed there is a job which would not infringe on my homemaking for you. I could model my very own beauty for other artists and thereby bring much-needed funds to feed our hunger with. We need calories to make love.”
John exclaims, “But from your very own lips came the protest of my decorations of our fair city.”
Rowena replies, “Would thy heart be calmed were I to promise only solo displays in the name of art for which we live and breathe?”
John says, “How could I deny you what has been my trade for many a year? Give unto me thy vow and I will not cower from your most honorable proposal.”
Rowena’s sapphire eyes burn the color of deep blue arctic ice. She lies naked, entangled in linen sheets. The room is illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. Syrian rugs hang from the wall, their arabesque designs bring back memories for them of the intricate mosaics in the walls of Damascus were they spent their honeymoon. John used to love to run his fingers over the inlaid stones, tracing the patterns and feeling a sense of beauty beyond words.
That feeling comes back with full force as he gazes at his lovely bird, her form outlined beneath the sheets. She gazes up at him with her china-blue eyes and their eyes meet in a sharing of intimate knowledge of each other.
John opens the door to a world of luxury such as Croesus lived. “A parting is in order. Your starving artist husband is of the past and you are married to a Roman Praetor in the flesh with gold coinage to bring luster to your eyes.”
Ro says, “When my eyes are the wine light with you sheltered under my hips are we not once more upon our nuptial bed?”
“Art is a fool’s game whose only profit is peeling paint on the walls of Pompeian vanity.”
Rowena tells him, “My love for you began with that paint howsoever flaked. Please, please don’t turn in your brush for what will crush our rose into fallen petals to wither on the ground.”
The smoke from the candles coils upward like snakes. They can smell the jasmine burning in the mother of pearl inlaid incense burner sitting on the cherry wood table. John watches mesmerized as Rowena stretches, cat-like, beneath the sheets. She has such a feline grace in her movement that he feels the burning desire to clasp her peaks and feel her soft flesh, succulent as ripe tomatoes in his palms.
John says, “We will sit high in the Colosseum overlooking a game which profits us amply.”
Rowena exclaims “How could you take pleasure in giving poor Romans bread and circuses instead of the good life?”
“Ro, this break is big enough for our mutual joy. Opportunity knocks but once and if we tell it to go away it parts without returning. You shall retain your own personal wardrobe designer for tailored tunics instead of moth-eaten drapery.”
“I am glad to share my threadbare garb with the moths who surely must dine too. Frankness behooves me at this juncture. To behold gladiatorial combat which as your wife I will be obliged to witness is not a life I fancy. My marriage was to an artist whose newfound career depicting lingerie models pleased me greatly. But workers need more than sports and fair wages should be promoted instead of brutality.”
“How self-righteous thou art. Who art thou to set forth to the plebeians what they need? Dost thou heart find our union onerous?”
And Rowena said, “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy Patricians shall be my Patricians, and thy Emperor my Emperor. But please let us return to this patio on our anniversaries to look at your depiction of me on the wall and remember simpler times. Your portrait of me is more precious than any statue of me by a sculptor.” Rowena’s tears come unbidden like hungry orphans on streets paved in lost dreams.
John says, “Hey Ro, let’s bring wine to this deliberation and pretend like all that passed need no more be heeded than a dream which wakefulness will mend. Sometimes upward mobility means climbing the steps to our apartment where the sound of children playing is heard from the streets.”
Rowena’s smile bursts through the cloud of her tears until laughter becomes her voice. She says, “Please believe me that I would have stayed by your side even in the palace. But our garret is quite comfortable and the only creature comfort I’d appraise for your consideration is a new mattress for our bed.”
“Honey, greed nearly toppled the walls of my good sense. I petition thee to give unto me your absolution that our domesticity may find concord.”
“Consider it done. I’m nostalgic about our current mattress. Let’s make love on it a few more times before we send it away.”
“Perhaps, we could cushion our budget as well by your securing employment outside the home.”
Ro replies, “I have pondered that far and wide. And indeed there is a job which would not infringe on my homemaking for you. I could model my very own beauty for other artists and thereby bring much-needed funds to feed our hunger with. We need calories to make love.”
John exclaims, “But from your very own lips came the protest of my decorations of our fair city.”
Rowena replies, “Would thy heart be calmed were I to promise only solo displays in the name of art for which we live and breathe?”
John says, “How could I deny you what has been my trade for many a year? Give unto me thy vow and I will not cower from your most honorable proposal.”
Everyone have a great weekend!!!!