By the time the paint had dried
You had finished your wine
You loosed your hair, mounted the chair cocked you head and said
“I don’t believe I’ve ever felt the need to celebrate my form
I am gangly. I am awkward. but upon your easel I am poised and graceful. I must be more alive in your mind than in mine.“
You weighed your words
Yet I think I may have heard a note of disdain with pretensions towards pain
But the fact still remains you know you haven’t earned it (at least not yet)
In turn I learned tat there’s nothing real to learn from a girl ill disguised
Wit such prepossessing lies all your life has been spent upon an endless longing for an end well I’m writing one for you
So you’ve filled your time with a long line of boys
Who invariably seem to fail they bat their eyes
Then tuck their tails
But we both know there's no such thing as regret when you’re sixteen still anxious for the next thing In nineteen ninety three
I dreamed I’d never reach the precipice of arrogance youth was real
Youth was everlasting
Or so I believed Valerie do you believe?
Too late for words
Your perfection’s been disturbed
By your lack of repose
By your tacky looking clothes
You are young, yes I know but come on...you really must be joking (or is it Halloween?)
Does the smell of the paint
Make you feel a little faint
Does my hand on your brow
Make you want to lie down
Does the sound of my voice make you realize you’re only human? that you’re only around for a while?
Hold still while I fasten these straps
Before and after photographs
Suspended animation
Once again
Suspended from gallery rails for you
A celluloid fountain of youth
Break down, break down
You will never be seventeen, Valerie
You will never be seventeen, Valerie
You will never be seventeen, Valerie
You will never be seventeen, Valerie