Just a sketch of the imagination,
visualized on gray colorless days.
Dreams thought not existing in creation,
simply a pastel, not yet ablaze.
A water color painting in friendship,
slow deliberate strokes of the unknown.
An artistic taste of your red wine lips,
a canvas you cannot claim as your own.
A kiss lingers into exquisite art,
such tenderness raging into the night.
Our desirous love will never depart,
as we make love in sensuous delight.
As we writhe in our night time tapestry,
painting our flesh with sweet agony. . .
Timothy Michael DiVito c2019
