Your favorite big brush
Has always brought
Fascination to me.
It has hair as soft as yours,
Just silkier.
I pick it up in my fingers
And you ask me if I wish
To paint something.
I push you on to the bed
And undo the covers,
Of not just the brush.
My fingers and the brush
Run all over your skin.
All over.
I paint your spine yellow
And stroke colors
In irregular patterns on
Your belly.
As I bite your right ear,
My brush covers a distance
From your belly button
To where you desire the most,
All orange, all dry.
You see, adding liquids
Isn't a worry over there.
"What are you doing?"
"Painting my future."
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