The Art

I’m not perfect, I’m getting old
lines are showing and curves blurred.
But in my chest, there is a pot of gold
It holds something holy,
Fluttering like a bird.
A name of a man,
Tall and Blue eyed,
Figure of David.
He moves like the wind
Voice of angles,
 Beethoven on a keyboard,
Wisdom of Solomon,
And warm like the sun in the spring.
A priceless Art piece in the louvre,
Sparkling Crystal chandelier.
A skilled craftsman
 engraved His name on my heart,
Made me fall in love,
Locked the door,
And stripped me naked.
His gaze burned through my skin
As he looked upon me.
Blazing desire,
Passion that never tire.
Longing to shed the world
And it’s false attire.
To spread wings and surf the winds,
An American eagle  
Vision of strength.
The Heart withers without desire
Ice kills the fire.
Spontaneous combustion
 fire works inspire.
To paint a masterpiece,
With every stroke,
Thrusting the colors
On the canvas,
Blending,
Mating,
Making dry rivers run.
As the coition progresses,
Heaving,
Paddling the rough water,
Upstream,
Steaming.
There lies the fountain of youth,
 elixir filling the grail ,
Overflows between the hills ,
Down stream through the lips,
Causing earth to shake,
Winds to break,
Ears buzzing,
It’s dizzying.
Like an addiction to heroine,
The more you inject in my veins,
The longer I want to stay in your restraints.