ART NOUVEAU CHAIR



If the chair had a voice, my friend,
every word she spoke you'd ask her to repeat,
just to hear her creamy vowels and silken syllables.
Cherie! she'd murmur, Please be seated,
untie the ribbons around my wrists!
The cushioned head rest, the only fabric
between you and her, would fall to the floor.

In her swan's down feathers, she was the toast of Paris.
The artist took good care of her,
and you will, too.

The well upholstered cannot know the joy
of living with bare wood, with mahogany,
an Art Nouveau wonder, and she's yours, my friend.
All you have to do is touch wood
and listen.