Poem: Ink & Quill

 Hunched in the dim lights of my study I obsess 
 over you, you, you
 Broad brushstrokes of my quill sweep across
 the page as the ink intertwines itself with the rigid woven canvas 
 breathing life into it, anew, 
  
 You arrive and ghost your hand under my chin 
 pulling my gaze up to meet your own, 
 Still dripping, you smudge ink onto my skin, 
 your knuckles, pink and prominent yet rough,
 Tips of your fingers outline my structure, 
 Jaw to a cheekbone, 
  
 Eventually, you speak, and as if learning to walk, 
 you stumble, 
 Tripping and turning until, prophetic, words fall 
 from your parted lips, 
 My head rests on your knee, entranced by you,
  
 “Oh, how I could worship you and only you.”
  
 Then you kiss me, softly so that I can still drink in other 
 Aspects of you, sweeping eyelashes on my hot skin, 
 Heavy hands pull me closer, coarse and dry but burning,
 burning to high heaven and back, 
 Quill, still in hand, until it drops to the floor and we pull back,
 With the ink only slightly smudged,
 My Masterpiece is completed. 

©  photo from Unsplash

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