Silent songs my soul creates dressed with peace and lace
to the former artist known to have ruled my heart.
He colored the opaque inches of my cells
with such detailed highlighting.
He smoothed the grooves, carved my curves,
stretched my smile and molded my natural fertilizer...
From scratch... collections of my dermis,
locks of hair, tears and several sighs...
Every touch so precise!
Doodling my cravings on watercolor sheets,
drawing every step, every move,
he captivated the lining of my figure with his fingers
and stole the beauty I stored inside.
An array of prismatic shades scribbled to enhace my aura,
as he massaged the corners of my wit
and tasted the the textures of my sexuality.
A leader of artistic pleasures!!
Throbbing pastels were crumbled, intriguing crayons melted
as the fevers of our moans linked together.
He ruled the kingdom of fantasy
as his hands explored more than eyes can see.
An excentric presentation of shadows lit by candles, steam and vapor.
Taken by his sensual aroma,
I long to sing the silent song I listen to in every numbing heartbeat.
To the Eros of my history, the Michaelangelo of my temple,
the picasso of pleasures.

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