blow me up and hang me in a gallery
i would be the nude in the ruben's room.
feel my libido being smeared across a
palette of indecencies, make me a
water coloured harlot for dante to admire.
source my oils from exotic places,
paint my peccadillos down to the creases,
stroke, lick, breathe me a heartbeat
in a body that has no boundaries.
drip my desire onto pre raphaelite men
then wipe me clean with a turpentine rag.
decorate your cube with a spattered vulgarity,
it will be worth it.
i am the pouting anti madonna with
forever moist and pouting lips, the nihlistic
exhibitionist, drawn & stretched taunt.
it isn't a matter of distance, or perspective,
on display with the pointed arrow lust of
a thousand horny demons, or my liberty
stained over canvas sheets, it's in the hues
of my contours done justice for flesh junkies
to admire and fingerpaint into wet dreams. it's in the
rampant ambiguity between my legs that makes
the leap from decorum to depravity, it's in
the subtle shade of knowing that however deep the
dive my eyes will follow.
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