I…
Your blank canvas, an endless opportunity for self expression
You…
The artist, I wear your words across my chest, our memories in Technicolor Depicted and executed so eloquently, effortlessly…
I hum and move to the rhythm of your Every stroke
Freshly wet and wed to your imagination, a sacred union
Like clay takes shape as do we escape into our desire, we create and consummate and burn for each other
she is artwork and glory
she smells like cherries, spilt ink and thunderstorms