unbound

Not like other women
In the quiet of emptiness
My black and white
He can see
In full color

Dulled wooden pencils
Drag my legs in length
Reposed torso between
The curve of hips and breasts
Stretched arms reach the sky

Charcoal drawn
On dusted paper
Blown through lips
Of one complex man
Examining every stroke

Watching with passioned eyes
Bringing me about
His fingers brush over me
Spreading color to flesh
And heat to my paper skin

Weaving layers into conscience
His breath finds me
Fills me with wildness
Rising from bound sheets
To find him back
.
.
.