The Aching Pose

To remain in my love, you must stay still.  It hardly matters if you lock your joints or relax them into noodles.  Motion complicates the budding of subtle affections.  Spectators long for rest, and immobility makes the floor to stick so that even the nimble are forced into a contemplative haze.  Trust that is so difficult to earn quickly settles at the base of heels in stillness.  That is the reason behind planting your feet with conviction.  I could paint you four times without a single water break.  Add to this perfect inertia eyes that do not solicit.  My custom will not permit a secret communication.  Why should my rapture be interrupted by a meddling riddle shot out of a coded glare? Become my stone darling.  Surrender to me the sole permission to move you as a chess piece when the time is right.  These desires are not born of control, but of artistic love.  Things must be done slowly and in order.  I will only act upon your substance to increase glory and pleasant rumor.  Though you have an ocean of admirers, my hand will craft every inch of your bubbling fame past your contemporaries.  Come to life suddenly and I will punish swiftly with a new subject.  My heart has no release valve for impudence.  Neither does it have width enough for collaboration.  Purse your lips, but do not sell them.  Hold back from going into business for yourself.  It is in my power to close the auction doors and splash the walls with your blood.  The price of that kind of movement is easily five years in my economy.  Come to your senses with a full stop.  I offer you the center point of traffic.  A fabric is being spun for the return of your rebellious travel.  It is nothing for me to cinch it to another model, but it was designed for you.  I demand no apology.  Only retire back into the quietude of my work room.