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| Thoughts on Cecily's Opening by Charlie Finch |
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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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