My Artist

I see him watching,
Absorbing,
Taking everything within him.
He's obsessed,
He can't help it,
For he must get every line, shape, crease,
In order to breathe.
He takes his time,
Giving every little stroke his all.
Such magic he is creating,
I become faint.
His secret smells make me desire him more,
For his patience of pleasing others before himself,
Unbearable.
He's naked,
His thoughts are revoked,
For he has done this many times,
He knows just the angle,
Just the spot,
To make the climax.
As I watch his perfection,
I can't help but think,
After he is done with this,
He must paint the insides of me.