Painting

Painting

I stand, stretched out before you, my body:
your canvas, naked, framed in your tight chain,
darkened shadows caress my skin, I see
you prepare your bizarre pallet of pain.
Awaiting your inspiration, your art,
I, your canvas, burn, glistening with sweat,
as you come to me and so softly start.
Your brush strokes, its nine tails absorb the wet,
with your light touch faint colors rise on me,
faster, harder, painting a deeper red,
each stroke, each color draws me, close to the
line, your masterpiece at my body’s edge.
I imagine the colors as you touch
my limits, pushing me slightly beyond,
then soft, with a feathered caress, your brush
faintly stains me. With my skin I respond
each time: I fade, I bend beneath your will,
as you touch me and ignite my desire.
Then firmly I stand, tightly tethered, still
to taste your power, as you paint your fire.