I am an amateur artist finger painting on the canvas of our pure love.
Frantically smear every excitement all over a seemingly life long foundation, I am over charged with passion.
Halfway, I realise that there are patches heavily loaded with enthusiasm.
The balance is destroyed.
Giving my best effort to salvage it, I only manage to make it dark and dull.
Now the beauty is ruined, and I quit trying.
I used to think I belonged to the hours of the owl. My safe place was by the nightstand where I showed myself freely in feline stretch. The bell rang from my wrist calling to my lover to overcome me while whispering every dark secret and indecent desire. Back then, smoky eyes and ripen cherry lips kept begging for more drowning out the safe word.
You carefully brought me out into the sunlight. My sun kissed forehead, freckled cheeks and salt stained lips yearned for life in every breath I took. The ocean bubble wrapped me in total warmth and security. You held me in your arms and the sun held us in its palms.
I love watching sunrise over the Blue Mountains.
When the sun bathes the Three Sisters, it raises the thick moist air with full force of seduction.
There is a certain irresistible temptation I correlate with King David.
Bathsheba was alone, but I am faced with three folds.