Your skin is the canvas and you eyes are the stars
in this milky night where the moonlight reflects your smile
with frozen breath and pencils at hand here I lie
beholding your bare figure and every single golden hair strand.
Because love is inhibition.
My brush and the ink become one
resembling the love act we perform without any illumination but the fireflies glow
moans and cries fusing with the cicadas call, composing a novel nocturnal chant
likewise, the brush dexterously scraps away the delicate canvas, in a rough yet tender manner.
Because love is delight.
This art session is reaching its end
similar to our existences which so