Where My Brush Strokes Linger

I woke trembling on the threshold of dawn as dappled sunlight through my window shone Upon my primed canvas there had been drawn a masculine image with finely chiseled cheekbones What virile fantasy had I born while in flight for my hand to have created such a dashing face In stippled darkness of my dream-filled night, a handsome fantasy did I dare fondly embrace His eyes stared in wonder; tantamount to my own No angle shielded me from their deep penetration I held my breath, then released a soft guttural moan as his strong hand guided mine without hesitation Warm colors defined muscular features I painted His hazel eyes were flecked with dustings of gold Flushed with desire, in a warm blush I was tainted when he faintly whispered, "To have and to hold" My palette was awash in shades of crimson. Soiled with streaks of scarlet were my hands and gown My brush strokes lingered on his full lips as I toiled imagining passion's kiss, in their depth I would drown I could not bear the thought of tearing myself away On and on I painted where his gentle hands led until finally wearied from hunger, upon my bed I lay Unsated was a craving within me, a desire to be fed With eyes closed, I hoped to dream of him once more, of this man who had completely captivated my heart Come, handsome stranger. Find me as you did before I cannot endure life if we must live it in dreams apart