Paint me with a feather.
Tickle me pink
and green and purple and gold.
Turn my smile into peals of laughter.
I was happy to see you at my door.
Now my joy is bubbling up out of me.
Like an overfull glass of champagne,
it spills its exuberance all over me.
Every stroke you make is so light
my flesh rises up in anticipation of its touch.
I am a woman all atwitter, blushing and ready
for your next swirl of paint, your next daub of color.
You said you were an artist.
Now I know you truly are.
I am delighted to be your canvas, your muse, your lover.
Go ahead, paint me with a feather.
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