Archive

Canvas

1122.2009

Beloved canvas—

in this room where silence has a pulse,

where words hush and only eyes remain,

we move together, slow and full of need.

You let my hands surrender onto you,

and caress against your bloodless face.

The walls are thick with echoes left behind,

and yet, you breathe into my quiet life

the forms and gestures of a shared belief—

faces we know, and promises we shape

when everything feels holy in our hands.

The pale white serpents of my fingers wind

around weathered brushes with patience,

their tongues awake the sleeping hues beneath—

the bruises of cobalt, the violence of red,

the gold that melts upon your skin.

I barely hold the joy you let me feel—

a lover who gives fully, never asks,

who stirs release with slow, deliberate touch,

who lets desire rise like smoke through me,

and gives as much as I am willing to give.

My fevered one.

My canvas.

My breath.

My own.

m.c.f.

Photo by A.N. (with edits by me.)