You’re a blank sheet of paper,
A white canvas begging for colour.
My imagination is boundless
Within your picture-frame.
Quivering hands grip your sides.
Shivering, the brush meets skin.
The slightest mistake and I’m sent reeling,
Painfully paying meticulous attention
To every detail of your being.
In abstract shapes, colours fill spaces I’d rather be.
Breadth, length, width and every dimension,
Within, without and still further within you.
Here I find comfort that distills time
Into ether as thin as air,
As thin as the space between us;
My fingers hard-pressed against your lips.
Here I find some strange salvation, salivating,
Dripping to the floor in pools of wet anticipation
– I wait.