He is the painter,
painting images of
desperate desire
and vistas of love
and secret knowledge,
upon her skin.

Each patient and
skillful brushstroke,
weaves obscure
and cryptic symbols
in subtle, vibrant
tones upon the
supple texture of
her curving form.

She is a leather bound
notebook,
swelling with promise
of verses and poems
yet to be birthed.

He is the quill,
his ink flowing
abundantly,
spilling fertile words...

filling her every page.






-by Mercurychyld
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