Art De Vous

Moonlight spills across your face

Frustration wrinkling your brow

As you crush another paper in hand.

Artist's hands, artist's fingers,

That feel strangely leaden

Awkward

Unwieldy

Anything but inspired

But determined….a fresh crisp sheet

Is clipped to the easel anew

An ocean of white

Ready

Waiting

For the blood of imagination

that will breathe emotion into brush.

And draw life where there was none

Once more.

When suddenly,

Frowning face growing slack

The hand stills

Brush slowly dripping crimson to the cloth

As if it were blood

Slowly drawing the color from your face

In a puddle of waste

On the floor.

But I have seen this look before

Oh, yes

It is nothing new

Nor bad

Nor even…..there.

Closer might be…...not there, gone…...inside?

Yes, inside

To touch the muse

Who lives in your being somewhere deep.

Somewhere private

Somewhere more alive, than this veil of life allows most humans to glimpse.

And with a short *gasp*, and a *giggle*,

Your smile returns

As your brush sails across paper

In a frenzied path of red.

As if you cannot apply the image fast enough

To keep it from searing your mind

Like a Kodak moment

When the flash catches you full on

Turning the world into an overexposure

For just a moment….or two.

And perhaps that is exactly what your mind feels

As you create

In a frenzy of color and magic

That I envy, and yet I don't

Not really.

Because I know there is a price to pay.

One you maybe can afford

And maybe I cannot.

But in this moment you stir me

In ways beyond the physical, oh yes

From the soft curve of your smile

To the hardness of your nipple

As it pushes fabric taut.

From the inner curve of your waist

To the outer swell of hip

My eyes trace you in such a new, yet oddly familiar way

And it is the little things I will fix upon;

Ruby curve of upper lip

That will glisten as you speak

And when the light hits just right, will blind my ears to your words.

Soft gently curving lobe of your ear

That I know will taste of Chanel

Bringing a flood of giggles when I taste.

And your wrist

So delicately pale that the veins will seem alive

Under my lips

Yet be warm with movement.

And as you create *Art* upon the canvas of your own choosing,

Allow me to appreciate the *Art Of You*

A creation that inspires my soul in ways

I am just now beginning to discover.

But arouses my body in ways of old.

That we may one day discover intimately.

"Art De Vous."

7.15.00                        *Hank*