Muse Erotica

Vivacious hues waiting on the palette,

The space was yet hollow, to come alive,

The fresco wasn’t the canvas, or the wall,

It was she and her naked body, he loved her,

And she loved him, an artist, a mural,

Much a lover who saw his artistry,

 

On her body, she had to bear his madness,

Of art, he never lifted a brush, nor painted,

A stroke, his hands played upon her body,

Touching, caressing every inch of bare skin,

He made her lie on a canvas, her eyes closed,

Lost into his own world, he kept splashing,

 

Colors on her volouptous body, his fingers dipped ,

In red he touched her face, some blue, some violet,

 He touched her bosoms, and everyhwere,

Nothing stopped him thereafter, he threw,

And threw bottles filled with colors,

On his beloved’s bare skin, who laid still,

 

Bathed in hues of all kind, she wasn’t bothered,

His touch was gentle, and arousing,

Caressing her soft and youthful figurine,

Tocuhing his muse, his goddess, her dusky skin,

 He too was aroused, desires spilling over and,

 Flowing on canvas, the artist gazed his art,

For a while and soon undressed his masculitnity,

 

Twain bodies metling into each other,

Embracing himself in her colors, they,

Made love to each other, everyday on a,

Canvas, their naked bodies swirled, rolled,

And something new was born, on the blank,

Sheets, colors of love, colors of ecstasy!

 

Each painting was a masterpiece,

It spoke of their clandestine love, their,

Sacred gestures had words of its own,

The world only saw the art on the canvas,

Neither the mural, nor the muse spoke,

Of their love story on canvas!

 

She was the muse eroitca who aroused,

His artistry, his desires, and their love,

Sold on high price, now their paintings,

Hung on myriad walls silently, speaking the,

Wordless sounds of their erotic love making,

Revealing their hidden truth, yet concealing it...