In 1967 I moved into a ten bedroom Victorian in downtown Oakland. When I came up the walkway, she stood her ground, forcing me to go around her. I could not see her eyes behind her large sunglasses. She was going to be my roommate. We lived with a rock n’ roll band. I had a studio next to the sound room. One night, the door opened. She came in, sat down, and did not say a word. I was before a large canvas with a brush in my hand.
Being – There
by
Jon Presco
Copyright 2015
She had to have me
The young man at his easel
stepping back
taking a long look
taking a slow drag
from his cigarette
She had to have me
From the chair as she watched
the silent stranger
find the ashtray
without looking
Moving like a cat
stalking his vision
he picks up another brush
She had to have me
and the colors
on my faded jeans
My long fingers
brushing aside
my Bohemian hair
Releasing my dragon’s breath
as I came close to kiss
the muse of my creation
She had to have my touch
My Lancelot caress
My sable strokes
upon her breasts
Her cheeks, her lips
silently begged me
Amazed at how
I could ignore her
She wanted me
her object of seduction
I was her lustful masterpiece
She had to have me
my best friends lover
came into
my windowless attic room
By candlelight
she rested her head
upon the muscles of my abdomen
to feel my tension
my ensuing thrust
she dreamed would be there
She wanted to hear my voice
feel the rising and falling
of my breathing
at the nape of her erotic neck
unfrozen in time
Merlin had his Vivian
She had to have my words
in her delicate ears
feeling my story resonate
down her beautiful spine
to the vortex of her soul
where she wanted me
to come to rest
She had to have me
there.
Rosamond Press 