Sometimes I stay on a while, once his work's done.
Depends on his mood. Today I’ll not.
Won’t let me see, but can tell he’s drawing me sweet.
He didn’t handle me into position-
Instead, worked an inch or so above hip and thigh
with invisible thread.
And- dragged across paper, the charcoal is pleading.
Often it whispers and moans.
The strokes that he’s using are careful, considered.
I'd rather go home.
muse: A bad day at the office.
— The End —