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I could with my pen paint
an indigo story across your
unfamiliar flesh
up and over those hip bones
lay out a story line
of lust
and tease
and need
all in ink, all so
esoteric
that none need blush

I could upon your earthy canvas
create a picture
where colors play
shallows and highlights swim and climb
adventuring along the way
to find the tickles and the groans
the way only the brush
of an artist’s tongue can

I could, and probably will
hide within my poetry
sketching your body in words most
abstractedly
and you won’t know, that it’s for you
in dusk’s sweet disguise
I lust and paint and writhe
that it is for you
stripped bare and wanting me
that I write

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