His Masterpiece

A naked canvas
Blank flesh
Curves rise and fall
The anticipation rising

The first stroke
Sharp
Stinging
A small streak

Then another
And another
Falling fast
Falling true

The artist changes his brush

Flat strikes against round
The speed increased
The blows hollow
The canvas moves with the act

Sweet pain
Sharp pain
Warm pain
Perfect pain

Once more his tactics shift

Soft
Hard
Strong flesh
Strikes down

How true an artist
Using his own hands
Putting himself
His soul
Into the work

He steps back to admire is canvas now marked

Red
Pink
Blue
Grey

The marks raise
The canvas sighs
Left wanting
Left hungry

The artist signs his work with a kiss