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    Thoughts on Cecily's Opening
by Charlie Finch
 
     
 
Cecily Brown
 
Bold Brown's body lies
a 'smolderin on the floor,
her deep, limpid eyes
invite you in the door.
Round, feminine curves
enrapture your gaze,
Cecily drags her cigarette,
"You wanna get laid?
My painting will do,
I'm painting big penises,
and I've done one just for you."
You close up the magazine,
and a Vanity Fair
disappears
amidst ads to spruce up the hair:
Ephemeral Cecily
So throaty and deep,
at what point does celebrity
make the dick leap?
Your perfume's not there
nor your buttery skin
nor your paint spattered blue jeans
where oil seeps in.
Today is the riddle,
isn't it, dear?
The charisma to spread,
the boyfriend's career.
Just remember one thing,
Oh, Cecily sweety,
if you'll be Sylvester,
then I'll be your Tweety.
If for only a moment,
your scent fills the air,
then lapping it up on my knees,
I'll be there!


CHARLIE FINCH is author of Most Art Sucks: Five Years of Coagula (1998).

 
 
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