You are jealous of the charcoal
Smudged across my silken skin.
The drawing came to me like a honeyed dream,
As you did.
Surrendering to it,
I begin to carefully outline the body.
Across the ivory page.
I start with those full satiny lips I ache to taste,
Like a fevered dream,
The image imprints in my mind
The way a blacksmith leaves his maker’s mark entrenched in steel.
I embrace the smoky shadows,
The darkness that I love.
Next, I add texture from years of pain.
I hear the scratching of the tool on my paper.
I would rather catch the softest whisper escaping your parted lips,
Finally, I blend.
As I do, I remember the fragrance of your body
Entangled with mine.
My fingers circle and caress,
Rubbing the charcoal deeper into the paper grooves.
As I do this, the smallest remnants cling to me.
In my bed,
The drawing becomes one with my body.
You are jealous of the charcoal.
You want to lay across my silken skin.
You want to come to me as a honeyed dream.
You want me to surrender to you, again,
With gentle strokes.
You want me to taste you,
To experience you.
You want to enthrall me.
You want to cling to me,
In my bed.
You want to become one with my body.
I am in agony, wishing you were here,
Instead of this charcoal.