The tongue is dipped into
sun-like ink. Prepared and
with its slick tip, it makes its
trail from the body, to shoulder,
to neck and to lip,
Round and round, focused,
Soft, slow and steady
upon a body of the finest ivory.
Teasing as it swirls, twists and
turns, to make a body with love
As it rightfully desires to be marked,
to be loved,
to be teased,
So when the tongue moves away,
and the trail finally sets, I hold
up the bashful body as if it were
sacred. I watch it glow and
instinctively know, that
it will stand the
test of time.
A beauty above all else...
Something rather sensual about painting a ceramic bowl ;)