After a few mental miles I was ready to begin.
He took my lips and pressed them to canvas,
leaving behind traces of a mouth that his opinion views as favorable.
The fishy-shaped imprints were soft, red,
and indicated a secret trace of envy.
May I always be your subject?
The focus of your artistic genius and creative drive.
I want to be the molecules in your juices that transfer your thoughts into motion
that makes the beautiful work.
Slick and thick
like blood or oil or ****** secretions
and swim like the dolphins at Sea World,
where we have never been but can only assume contains much majestic movements.
Your hands mold my being like clay,
as Prometheus had done, many years before.
I am your first.
(Though you are not mine)
I inspire the fire
and cause you to steal.
Naughty naughty boy,
your silly perfection makes my insides so tingly
like the sizzling of flaming flesh.
And I wouldn't want it any other way.