The Artist

earth lives in wet caress

like polished drops of orange sun

that slide and mould the contours  of my soul

you are a sculptor

my breasts are clay that cry and move,

your push and pull sucks me into being,

thumbs press and stretch like God and water flows in

open pores like moody tears and music to a pool of stone

a deep note inside a song

the touching is a thrill of song itself

you are a musician

melody comes thick and sweet like sugar in hot tea,

black tea, sprinkled on my body, crisp flakes

contrasting with the felt on which you rest your open palm

full grasp of flesh like biting into something rich and salty

a lick of wicked script

a tongue teaching me

the words, of wild and graceful tune

you are a poet

large earnest loops of love trace letters down and over me

holding me still, bending my will a lyrical freedom

heart beating like bubbles bursting

big thick molasses bubbles, bursting slowly, like punishment

a wash of soft paint,

a brush of colour in my belly

pleasure laquers the canvas with vibrant oils

you are a painter

2 thoughts on “The Artist”

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