Living with a painting

Waking up, I look at you,
motionless, waiting for the sunrise
to shake you from the deep slumber
and shine your colors into the room.

Yet, it’s in this darkness
that I savor the flimsy moment
where you are only mine.

No eager conversations
about your beauty.
No finger-pointing
to your genius.

Just me, craving the intimacy
to run my breath
all over your canvas.
My eyes, eating your flesh
as I imagine your juiciness.

I can hardly contain
this savage impulse
that wants to rip off your skin.

I don't know where it comes from,
but I won't deny it.
Not with you here,
looking so fragile and tender;

inviting me to reach out
with your delicate blush
to taste your ripeness,

feel your velveted curves
and explore every crease
until I strip you to the core.

Yes, I'll bathe in your fragrance
and lick your sweetness
from my fingers.

Where will I spread the seed?
I won't tell you.
I'll decide that on my own.