FERVOR.

HER BODY IS A CANVAS.
EMBEDDED BENEATH THE GRAIN YOU OUTLINE
BLACK AND BLUE, AND HOVER OVER THE FAINT
YELLOW IMPRESSIONS WITH THE TIPS OF YOUR
FINGERS.
AND YOU WOULD SWEAR IT'S NEARLY BEAUTIFUL,
THAT IS IF YOU HADN'T BEEN WITNESS TO THE
PIERCING OUTCRIES EACH PORTRAIT PROVOKED
FROM THE HUMAN CLOTH.
EACH SESSION DISCOLOURING MORE AND MORE
OF WHAT USED TO BE HER PRIDE, THAT PALE
IVORY SKIN.
STILL, NO MATTER THE DEPTH OF HIS NEWFOUND
ARTISTRY SHE NEVER STRAYS FAR FROM THE
PAINTER.
AND YOU COULD SWEAR BENEATH HER FEARFUL
FACADE SHE'S MORE THAN PROUD TO BE THE
CHOSEN TAPESTRY TO BEAR HIS MARK.
YOU COULD SEE IT, APPARENT IN HER DARTING
EYES EVERY TIME YOU BEGGED HIS NAME.
AND YOU COULD FEEL IT THROUGH HER SECRECY
AS YOU CALLED ATTENTION TO HIS POIGNANT
STROKES, OR RATHER STRIKES.
AND YOU COULD HEAR IT, AS YOUR VOICE ELEVATED
IN RAGE AND HER HEARTBEAT IN DESIRE.

NOW, AS SHE LAY DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND TO HIS
INTENTIONS ALL YOU CAN PRAY FOR IS THAT HE
DOESN'T TIRE OF HER GALLERY.

AND THAT SHE DOESN'T BECOME HIS INFAMOUS
MASTERPIECE.