Normal days are Van Gogh starry eyes
A body made of Caravaggio chiaroscuro
but when you touched my shoulders
the skin under your hands came alive
like a Pollock painting
all excitement, movement, expression

You said I was soft, unlike your hands
and the juxtaposition embarrassed you
but my heart beat faster in the moment
and I was grateful for your fingertips
and the warmth of your rough palms

I wanted to keep them there, on my bare skin
I imagined them moving, covering me in gold leaf
bending my neck, for a kiss like Klimt
I wondered what other parts of your skin would feel like
your chest; in relation to mine

You made me feel beautiful just with your hands
as if you were admiring a masterpiece
that you had created