Portrait of my madness

The portrait of my madness
has the colour of your skin,
the same pink tonality.

The canvas of my mind
has the shape of the bed
where you lay naked.

Canvas of passion and luxury
painted by you
in our hours of love
with the red of my blood.

Your white nails
like bristles of a paintbrush
pass on my skin
and give sweet wounds to me
like thorns of a rose.

And after the love
I remain fascinated
in front of this picture
in silent contemplation
for hours and hours.