take me to Paris, she said through star-filled eyes
through which she couldn't quite see
and his shadow beckoned her delicate hands into the unknown

and when she touched the Eiffel tower it felt almost as cold as his hands had been
when he picked her up from the grass
but she ignored his ice hands
and instead
hummed to the tune
of his contralto voice
even when it raised with every hoarse breath
as it turned to terrifying storms of thunder

she lay in silk as her artist's muse
soft fabric against skin
chills sweeping up her back
goosebumps against her arms
yet she smiled

but she longed to hold the paintbrush and swim amongst the bright colour

when she traipsed across sunset fields
she felt his grip tighten
but she treasured the security
that he wielded
in his rough hands

and when he hit her
it felt like a kiss