I step into a darkened room, concealed
His strokes stop midway through the colored tip
I fumble to tie strings loose, layers peeled
We breathe, I wait; he feels to get more grip

He guides my limbs knowing, devoid of shame
A routine one could never get used to
Brushes burn at every inch of my frame
His steps retreat to base, craves come to view

I follow him, cheeks flush I steer his brush
On canvas freed it seeks splashes of white
I guide his hands knowing, contact to rush
To bring this afternoon into the night

I step out a darkened room, denuded
Of inner walls that once were excluded.