Learnmore Edwin Zvada writes

Too Big a Noise for my Trade

I have not the lines to describe the whim of a painter fashioning a portrait of a kept woman, 

nor have I saddled my gaze upon the seesawing bosom, supple skin's dimpled rise, the rounds and turns of a damsel’s posture looming out of a steamy illustrator’s zoomed lens

How unfortunate it is to be without knowledge of such sinuous a summation of feminine artwork,

it's rendered foreign to me, that adverse ineptness straddling up on my tongue

needless to say, the portrait in itself is an object of forlorn ambience to the eyes of the escapist, 

the one extremist I am inescapably mutating into

It isn't surprising why my verses maintain that I have tastes colder than a witch’s ears

unwrapped to such a cruel set of words, too soon I'm bound to step aside and let the painter and his paint do what they think to know best

The Art of Painting -- Johannes Vermeer