Plethora of Images Cont


The texture of the canvas is too smooth
To mirror my emotions
A boat caught in a raging storm
Is too cliché
Instead I’ll draw wet dreams
And other dirty things
That leave gray smudges on paper
The messier the better
If my ice blue rage
Were to tear through the hymen of this page
Would it be considered rape
Or liberation?
The pen arouses my expression’s libido
I’m wet with verbs and loose nouns
Sentences splashing hot pink sexual positions
And dark white intentions
Naked vowels flow, raw
Tainting sheets
Funky and nasty
Sweet just doesn’t do it
At least not for me
One would think that making love to my inner self
Would leave me complete
But I’m empty
Like a painter with no hands

© 2008 by Toya J


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