she stood bare in front me
her arms outstretched
a look
of raw vulnerability
etched into her eyes
my hands dripped with paint
her supple skin
the canvas
in which
my senses feast
simplicity born
of desperate need
a deft weaving
the weft deceiving
painting with fire
AmberAngst taught me a new word, so I tried to thank her with a companion piece. her’s is amazing. mine is mine.
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I like this poem, well penned.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you. had to use my new word.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love it — especially the last stanza!! Bravo, my friend!
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you. It popped in my head the second I looked weft up. felt like it had to be done.
LikeLiked by 1 person