Max snapped the shot. She dared him not to; willed him into staring into her rather than capturing her, but that’s where the magic lived. In that confused moment where motives became live wires in street puddles each stood in barefoot, helpless. Only she was rage of senses, the dizzying of balance and welcome shock. She’d come in and owned the session from the first exposure, peeling off clothes and Max’s own reserve with each successive pose. Only she didn’t merely posture herself, instead granting eye contact so direct that it was like the sun; blinding and still imprinted on Max even as he tried to blink her away. He’d photographed them all, the swimsuit models, the actresses, the celebrities and the runway girls; all of them with their high cheekbones and sinewy lines. Yet off the street she came with him, out of the gray New York rain, and she sat, uninstructed, naked, fearless and connected, curves threatening to steal his hands from controlling the camera. “Take me,” she goaded him with effortless sensuality. And in that moment a thousand orders to others read as hollow to him. His art was a lie, for she was truth and soon she was dressed again in her damp clothes. On her way out she refused money and smiled as she closed the bulky metal door to Max’s studio behind her. He ran to the window and watched her walk down the crowded wet sidewalk, wanting to call to her, wanting to learn what he’d captured; the essense of love at first sight. She turned right at the end of the block and Max never saw her again, but not a day went by that he didn’t look at her longingly.

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This is my first collaboration with the stunning @___lucifera___ . This continues a move away from poetry into the realm of microfiction. Like everything, the words are inspired by the image and were written after I did the edit on Linda’s photo. Thank you so much, @___lucifera___ for the opportunity to collaborate.
(at Exposed)