Coitus, 1915, Egon Schiele

Coitus, 1915, Egon Schiele

Coitus, 1915, Egon Schiele       I remember fondness dirtier. The stark contour, your touch. The things we’ll do bereft of nerves. The light’s hard. The rug burns.   Where would I look for comfort in a body? A lover’s full weight only disappoints...