Portrait in Red and Grey

You, who think to take

an artist for a lover

who sees the sensual Nude

his inspiration, the object of his affection

so, aspiring to be rendered thusly

what know you truly

of the artistic temperament?

The artist

no greater or lesser

than another lover may

prove as better or worse.

If there be a unique aspect

find it within yourself -

infinite patience.

When the Muse comes calling

and he awaiting Her arrival always;

frantically pacing the halls keeping

one eye on the clock,

passively sipping his drink by

the fire, gathering an age of thought.

When She appears,

all passion, attention, energy

belong solely then to Her.

It is She guiding his brush

each stroke

giving shape to form;

curving the hips,

the swell of the breast,

intensely, deliberately, furiously

ejaculating the Nude across the canvas.

Still think you,

(his palette spent)

to become his model -

parched and grown weary,

your desire

a turpentine soaked rag on

the floor

while I quenched and gleaming?

Plucking

from behind the seductive smile

the fruit of his secret -

She, but the underpainting

I, whose gaze

has fallen upon her form

now too then joined against

splatters of crimson ecstasy

glistening on my skin

his breath, eyes, memory

liquid heat in my veins

swimming in my vault.