The Artist's Muse

His artistic eyes consumed

Her aesthetic, unclad form

Bathed in the pure morning sun

And last night's lust.

Her tangled locks caught in them -

Scents of their love and young red wine.

He faced the easel, colour palette

Held in one hand, paintbrush in another

Deciding the hues and shades.

She lay on the bed naked,

Posing as he had asked.

The canvas displayed her likeness-

Beautiful and sweet, elegant and dainty.

His paintbrush dipped in rose-tinted red -

The colour of her cheeks and moist lips.

He remembered how her lips, like a feather,

Had glided over his body last night.

He could go on all-day

Carefully stroking her contours

With his paintbrush to stain its hair with 

The odour of her composition.

With each stroke of his brush

He would immortalize

The romance of the artist and his muse.

At night, her framework was the canvas

His fingertips- the paintbrush

Colouring her insides 

With every moan and thrust.