Nothing

Pink tipped
Lavender petaled
Rose
Beaten by bruising rain
Wilts in the sun's setting glow
While she stands
In periwinkle patterned
Lace lingerie
Perfumed and waiting
For absolutely fucking
Nothing.

Canvas

You stand above me,
tugging my hair
to draw my lips
closer to your will.
And I lay
open like the sky,
awaiting its Masters
splashes of sunrise.
A canvas,
accepting and absorbing
every stroke,
gentle or not,
and seeking only
your design for me.