Endless desire

Beloved woman, who you are so far away today!
Out of reach, how long my arms might ever be.
Out of reach, how loud I might yell my pain of desire into the world.

How often have I savored the sight of your awake and sparkling eyes; how often felt as one with you.
If only I could paint, I would paint your face, as I see it in front of me,
Your face, with the laughing, sparkling eyes, which always give me a reason
to live, to work, to dream.

I would paint your lips, which have touched me so tenderly,
paint this mouth, which has whispered so much tender words into my ear but as well has expressed critique so gentle and still so certain.

I would add your neck and your shoulders.
This neck, which so sensitively reacts to my kisses.
These shoulders, which alone drag me to you, when your evening dress exposes them or just
your usual T-shirt slips out of position.

Oh yes, and your breasts would make this picture perfect.
Soft hemispheres, which have given so much pleasure to my hands each time I touched them.
Never could I fight this reflex to squeeze them, to knead them
Long and hard – in arousal – I would express their nipples. The way they nearly cut a scratch into my tender tongue.

The luscious curve of your small waist, up to the stronger hips would adorn this picture.
I would not use a brush.
No, with my fingertips, dipped in paint I would let them come to existence.
Alone, to again awake the feeling I have, when my fingertips exactly follow this curvated line on your body.

Your belly had to show and would show the softness my head likes so much, when he uses it as tender and sensual cushion.

Then my painting fingers should move on, down to your wonderfully pronounced mound of Venus. They struggle against it.
This triangle, pointing to the most intimate part of your body.
I don’t want to paint it.
No! Because a view, a touch to this area I want to keep for myself.
Oh yes! In the picture before my closed eyes, each pore shows so explicitly.
But on a painting of you?

Yes! I would paint your wonderful long legs, lying slightly across each other.
This is what I would grant the viewer.
The remaining details he may picture to himself.

These well-formed thighs, when they open to embrace me.
HE can picture them for himself. I would not paint them.
This area is reserved for our love.
For the complete union of two bodies and two souls at the same time in Love, lust and tenderness.

Oh, if only I could paint, my beloved woman…..