As an artist looks at a flower
I look at you.
A lily among tulips
I want to paint you.
My lips are the brush over your pale skin
stroke for stroke I take care,
making a work of art.  
The canvas already speckled,
kisses of angels trail like stars in the sky
emblazon your skin
as the fire in my belly burns for you.
And like the freedom of a summers day
I could not want anything more.