Higher Arts *

Viewer discretion is advised... A poem about the relationship between art and erotic experience.

I know little of the higher arts and yet I knew you were low hanging fruit -

ripe, round, curvaceous. Peeling back the skin, I navigated the contours of your paradise. 

Voluptuous. 

*

Maybe I was the painter then, with a true passion... for I crudely placed you

in compromising poses, to please the eyes. And my appetite surveyed your divine aesthetic.

I thrust the brush into the pallet with no misgivings. There on the canvas I stroked your colours:

I'm fond of your shimmering bronze and the boldness of your blacks.

*

The fingers traced your terrain with a license to explore your nature. Maybe I'm a Romantic. 

Sensual subject, you were waterfalls and caves. You were desert dunes and an oasis. An angel

descending from heaven and a devil straight from hell. 

*

Faithfully I gave shadows to the flesh of the neck and I rounded your breasts. I delighted in depicting

your sweet spots of creation, my hands holding your submissive hips as I worked you into being.

*

I know nothing of the higher arts but I know we mastered something.