FrimFramFromFrem
The way you excite me with delight. Warming the train of veins that dance around my body. Am I asking for too much if I desire to taste you day after day? Morning? Noon? What about night? Though you share yourself with many others, it's my pleasure to still come home and call you mine. I cringe at the thought of going a day without you. Feeling your smoothness in my hand sends sensations down my spine. You burn my tongue with passion and my mind goes hazy every time I take it upon myself to take you in one sitting. But I am turning a new page. Alcoholics Anonymous starts tomorrow.
I wish I were a painter. If I were a painter, I would first start by memorizing every curvature, sinew, tendon, freckle, and scar. Just about every other divine natural mishap that has etched itself in the making of you. But more than a painter, I want to be a creator. Create a way for you to find your way back to me. From there, I would paint for you a world of many moons and all the stars that have learned how to shine because of you. But for now, I'll stick with my ten dollar easel and dollar store brushes. It is you who makes these puerile illustrations immeasurable to the wallet of every makeshift visual arts collector.