For the Bemused

I am a muse
Cleverly disguised
In human flesh and bone
I linger languidly
Dressed in blue eyes
And bountiful tendrils toppling upon my pale flesh
This is the poet's canvas
He rests just three fingers
Upon my protruding collarbone
And begins to paint his decadent dream
Tracing an outline
Without boundary
The tender touch
Igniting a force within
He feeds off the body beneath him
Orchestrating the moves we make
Like a still frame
Sepia bleeding into brilliant color
As the touch moves on
Towards the hip
Lips part
Redefining the present
Breath by breath
He is now a masonry
Brick by brick
He builds bridges
The beautiful bones beneath my skin
Beneath his body
Act as our place of foundation
He places his faith in these bones
I am unbreakable
His infusion
Sustains stability
Nothing can unearth truth
His wrist finds its way to my fingertips
His fingertips to my wrist
We retrace the architecture
Lending life to art
This is
Our masterpiece