Sta.sh
"I'd take my clothes off for you, so long as it was for artistic purposes."
"You know I'm a writer, right?"
"Yeah."
And you smiled, and met my eye,
With a pagan innocence that mocked the stubborn residue of my Saxon, puritan shame.
You once told me how you escape the heat
By doffing your clothes,
And going naked around your apartment.
I think of you that way often,
But not in the way you might think.
I'd draw you naked
For your skin, your breasts, your eyes, your hips,
(There's none of you that isn't beautiful)
But mostly for the ease with which you wear nature's garments,
Unburdened by their cultural weight.
Or I'd write you, better yet,
Tracing your contours with inky fingertips,
Vesting you in words of adoration.
Yearning 
