The Artist

he stretches my body upon a canvas
then paints my skin with his hands
he forms my soul with his mouth
and writes poetry inside me
carnal words carved within walls
and molds me as clay to himself
until we are as one pot
he composes music--I sing the lyrics
without words, I am his wind instrument
my voice, a bird set free from its cage
when he releases his hand, I float

he stares, satisfied with his work
but will never share with the world
what is only for his eyes, only for his ears

he gives me my name -- beautiful, he whispers
and signs his away, hidden inside
where love gives birth to new art
Written by janiselizabeth (Janis Miller)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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