The nude at the top of the stairs
was painted by a Grand Master.
For her tint he brush-stroked air,
and curved space to form pleasure.

I have seen this woman dressed.
I have seen this woman naked.
Every time I have been blessed.
Not once have I been misled.

She taught me to yearn again,
to trust in desire
and to seek the better than.
Tears flow as easily as laughter.

The nude above me on the stair,
dawn’s glory, sunset’s story,
understands my stare.
Fairies don’t live just in fantasy.

What do I see when I see my love?
I don’t have answers anymore.
I just know I’d rather still be there above
than walking out her door.