Egon Schiele, ‘Lovers (Self-Portrait with Wally)’ (1914)
by Bobby Murray
The worst headache
came and stayed
when you left.
And it figures—
the clutch,
only you know the depth;
the stroke of my back,
the scarlet
of my sex—
my prayer in a
ruff-collar,
rubicund dress.
I’ll form with your
palette,
newly expressed—
and dance with your body
across
the canvas,
and come as your woman
to leave
as your guest,
but I am bemused—
with your hand
on my head.