You are The Model. This is how you walk home, leaving once and for all the table of minor American Buddhists in the Aegean who are very sweet but who will keep you back. Excuse yourself, leave the port, the kindly foreign colony, they are not the world, visit them someday on a yacht and remember names. Now in the darker town, star ache through the wide screen blue, the girl beside Vadim in a Paris rumour, solemn child body with surprising breasts in Elle net bathing suits, career in fashion elegance must must end in real power movies. Not if you stay with people who want so little, thin 19 blond, tipping moon foam off your white canvas thighs, get home and think, homesick, it’s a beautiful night, penknife carved initials done out of love for you, where somewhere in the huge blue horoscope, is it a mistake, are you ordinary? Thin fame driven deer Vadim maybe new blond generation, stretchy sweater of tight pressed moons invisible bra moon nipple haze, 19, five years to do it. Walking home without autograph disciples for the last time, the last time that’s a promise G-d, climbing white moon blunted steps, the Greeks are asleep and poor, unfashionable Greek island fine for little Buddhist kings. Smile for Vadim spies possibly scouting you out of the sparkling vast astrology right now, threaten Paris, threaten Jean Shrimpton, sleep with Vadim don’t do everything the first time or do maybe, O G-d the night is so soft and beautiful, climb to the freshly made hotel, knowing how you look from behind, lemon scented sweater, long angles of leg lost unphotograph, homesick, 19, lying down, sometimes you have to be alone to be alone, saying prayers naked carefully, remembering every name, that’s why you won’t be punished, is Vadim on the way down, can any girl be discovered after Bardot?

1965