Etienne Jeaurat, French
“Guess What You’re Wearing? Mmm, I Bet It’s That Sexy Little See-Through Number I Bought You in Vegas. Can I Open My Eyes Now?,” Date Unknown
Watercolor and chalk on paper
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Info, or perhaps links that point to more info, about this artist can be found here and here, perhaps in addition to what’s in his Wikipedia page (Google translated French Wikipedia page has more).
/// Young man sits at a desk, starts to write.
Two hands cover his eyes, blocking sight.
She appeared at midnight,
flesh and garb both bone white.
His reaction— delight, or sheer fright?
/// If the hands are soft, gentle and warm,
he will turn, smiling up at her form.
It’s his wife’s nightly game,
her words always the same:
“Come to bed, love, it’s time to perform.”
/// If the touch is as cold as the tomb,
he will freeze as a chill fills the room.
Whiff of mold in the air
fills his heart with despair.
Guttered candles can’t hold back the gloom.
/// Silent woman in white he most feared—
the deceased wife and love he’d revered.
Was his new marriage cursed
by the one he’d wed first?
When he turned, the pale ghost disappeared.
/// What’s the truth? It is found, the man knows
in the stories he works to compose.
His chosen vocation
spurs imagination.
He’s an author of dark gothic prose.
/// He is letting each reader select
the tale’s version they think is correct.
Since Halloween’s near
scary ghosts may appear,
but a loving wife, few would reject.
/// In democracies people rejoice
over having the chance to give voice
to selections they made. (He
picked the “tiger” or “lady”?)
All can vote which one is the best choice.
/// In his pockets he’s constantly adding
some additional soft fluffy padding.
And that’s how he avoids
pain from bad hemorrhoids,
which prevent him from going out gadding.
> or <
/// He gets headaches from straining his eyes
when, to write for long hours, he tries.
His wife comes to soothe
with her hands, cool and smooth.
Then he quits to make love— no surprise.