The sky
is blue and the air is softly
rolling over her back,
exposed like the canvass she will become.
I sit astride her hips, my eyes closed
as I compose for her,
and my fingers move with a squeaking intensity
over her flesh.
Long cool limbs become ardent verse.
Valleys and mounds are transformed
into mirrors of my very soul.
Already the masterpiece she is,
I hope to enhance the soulspeak we share.
(c) ArdentTly 070900