There is no painting of aimless silhouette's on a naked canvas depicting an artistic longing.
Instead there is just the carnal and lascivious desires that are burning, that are longing, that are screaming for attention. There is the ravenous hunger for sensual touch, your touch.
Your fingers, your hands, your mouth over me, upon me, in me.
There is the rousing desires, of wants and needs.
Screw the words, screw the poetry, screw the art upon bare canvas.
Instead I want you.
Your hands, your mouth, your body touching mine. Instead I want to touch you, to kiss you, to bite you and hurt you. I want to breath you in, taste you, hold you.
There is no need for epodic rhyme.
There is just a need for a moment. A moment with you, with a mellifluous symphony of desirous worship.