The lovely devoshn mentioned that she was beginning to believe that I could write about watching paint dry and make it sound… interesting. That sounded like a challenge to me.
Across her shoulder blades
Into the curve of her spine
Touching the hollow of her waist
Her creamy skin drinking my writing
A poem that she’ll only feel
A poem about her that she’ll never read
Her hair cascading across the words
Across my devotion to her
Tenderly caressing us on her back
And she sits there patiently
Breathing slowly, accepting me on her
And I burn her silhouette into my heart
As I watch the paint dry
