draw me like one of your french girls,
you said, smiling, on the bedroom floor,
looking at me like an enchantress, eyes full of fire,
tempting me as always, burning with desire.
on an empty canvas, a draw a curvy line,
contour your forms, perfect by design,
my hands moving slowly, trying to bring to life
your whole being, soul.
I don’t paint empty colours, to hang on a wall.
I want this portrait, to be just like you,
like a raising sun, that warms up my heart,
you alone are a piece of art.
I can’t focus, your eyes are distracting me,
I can’t draw it. I’ve tried so many tricks,
but seeing your smile, and your soft lips,
I want to throw the canvas far away,
join you on the floor and find my way,
to the places where we like to play,
but we won’t do that now, at least not today.
I’ll draw you first, like a french girl,
exactly as you wanted,
and then we’ll remake the other scene from Titanic.
The best paintings are the ones that can vividly enchant our imagination. The same is with poetry. What if we combine the two?
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