I Am The Canvas

Last night I made love
to one of your paintings
in solitary rhythms
matching stroke for stroke.

I can still smell the brush
as it caressed my hair in colors
of copper, terra cotta and
deepest green.

It was a slow burn between
the sheets
as I became the canvas
alive and aware.

Needing a soul to guide me
towards desire and beauty.
A still life carefully silhouetted
yearning to breathe.

Alive yet lost in your magic and light.

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