I had a dream that you wanted to **** me,
you told me you were going to drown me in the lake,
you were going to drive your car off the pier and we were going to die together.
I begged you not to do it,
I was terrified,
and trying to convince you that we could make us work,
you didn't have to do this.
Crying and screaming and trying to get out of your car but you wouldn't let me.

(I got the same feeling in my stomach that I got for our entire year long relationship)
(Like I was trapped and didn't know how to get away from you)

I woke up and I was so happy that I am still 900 miles away and that I never have to speak to you again.

can try to capture beauty,
try to capture expression--
yet as an artist, never satisfied.

i want to do more than catch your likeness on paper
with pen or graphite, desire more than just a role as an avid watcher and portrayer.

i want to learn the hard planes of your body
the ways they could move in junction with mine,
hands with such strength and virility. there is an urge
to bring those fingers to my mouth, or a lone earlobe.

bite down. sharp inhale. that's music.

i want to know the shapes you make, the way a body looks glistened in hard work, trace the indentions in a spine, be familiar with its knobby structure, kindly measure the quiet strength of muscles, the contours of a figure that is a reflection of its environment.

feeling. quiet feeling.

i want to look and really look, study the proportions of smiles, the simplicity in wrinkles and the path of veins, gentle lines that nature already drew for me. especially observations of lines in your eyes. what is your gaze drawn to. don't tell me, show me.

let me understand a deep look. stare at me. let me stare at you.

i just want to draw on you--
human skin is my canvas,
eyes are inspiration,
raw souls are my
new medium,
and
passion is my paint brush.

can i sketch you, love?