The Artist

the artistIvory skin exposed, wanton
Your eyes; liquid desire
Your lips; pouting lust
The red, the rose, and the wine,
a hopeful gift, from him to you

Fingers sliding, deftly, down the spine
Your freshly pressed dress
pressed firmly against him
Your hair, up-swept
in his fist
Your face, planted motionless
on the wall
And your skirt shifts
as his pants fall
(Flecks of paint litter the wooden floor)

No – You don’t want him to
Stop – No
You don’t want him to – stop

The red, the rose, and the wine
on the table, undulating

Ivory skin, exposed, bereft
Your freshly wrought dress
tousled, unkempt
His brush stains
down your leg

the red, the rose, and the whine
his eternal gift…

Dawn Serene | ©

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