Painting

The Muse

I brought niether shame nor
Any fear brought I;
I gave myself to my
Painter's devouring eye.

I perched myself where He
Softly commanded me;
I showed myself so He,
My innermost may see.

Now His brush's strokes touch me,
The insides of my soul;
His colours splash me on
To the dry canvas roll.

The Artist

She had come shy and coy
Clothed in her virgin shame.
She then made me pledge my
Dry canvas to her name.

She looks straight at me now,
Fast yearning to be seen.
She thinks of how she'd paint
If the muse I had been.

I wish I could enter
Her Body, flesh and mind,
And having touched her soul
Draw my nonpareil find.