- Photographer’s Perspective
In the hush of velvet shadow,
she reaches—gloved and deliberate—
as if to pull me through the lens,
into the quiet riot of her gaze.
I pause, breath snagged on the edge of want,
caught like a fly in the web of her pose.
A moment slips—
then she says my name,
low and laced with knowing.
Click.
The spell breaks,
but the image keeps her.
It’s the age-old relationship—
Muse and Artist.
She, tantalizing, young and bold;
me, hungry for something I can’t name,
latching onto the closest thing
that feels like fire.
The look in her eye—
I mistake it for longing.
But I pause, unsure,
afraid to ***** the muse
who’s let me near enough to frame her.
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 8:31 PM UTC
- Photographer’s Perspective
In the hush of velvet shadow,
she reaches—gloved and deliberate—
as if to pull me through the lens,
into the quiet riot of her gaze.
I pause, breath snagged on the edge of want,
caught like a fly in the web of her pose.
A moment slips—
then she says my name,
low and laced with knowing.
Click.
The spell breaks,
but the image keeps her.
It’s the age-old relationship—
Muse and Artist.
She, tantalizing, young and bold;
me, hungry for something I can’t name,
latching onto the closest thing
that feels like fire.
The look in her eye—
I mistake it for longing.
But I pause, unsure,
afraid to ***** the muse
who’s let me near enough to frame her.
First in a series of poetic reflections on desire, distance, and the art of seeing
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