Art is soul on canvas,
marked in word or brush or pen,
with the hidden exploding outward from what normally lies within;
but there are other tools of passion reaching deep into the soul,
where a paintbrush cannot stroke and words will never find a scroll...

This art, it shimmers lightly in a tiny velvet flame
where I cannot find an answer
and I cannot find a name...
but a tool...
a tool I've found,
and it barely makes a sound
until my fingers brush on skin
and there are whispers made of grins.

Oh this art it has a nameless tool...
that brings a lustful bite,
with my lips forgetting words
and my fingers forgetting colors...
but I paint throughout the night...