FEED My MIND: Adventure. Learn. Live. Write.
When you are satisfied,
broad strokes applied,
brushes cleaned, palette scraped bare,
her likeness captured on canvas,
a lingering, sensual memory.
When silken robe has been returned
to fair skin, tied closed by your hand-
phone me then.
Let me hear your voice,
your soothing, sultry tones echoing from an empty upper room,
oh, please let it echo,
in my hand,
across all these miles,
Time holds lovers captive more tightly than the rest of the universe; while the artist’s hours are lost in translation.