The World of Myth Magazine

I am aware I push him to reach a level of light and fluid colour,
abstract beauty, lines that follow, flow, delineate each hollow,
with the palest lilac, a blush of pink. Each tiny puncture mark
holds pigments rarer than azure skies, topaz hues.
Bands and swathes, loops and swirls, begin and end upon me.
This pain must have meaning, holding vision and intent
as each nip of the Liner needle alters, changes,
while the intervention of the Shaders evolves, elevates.
I am his canvas, each part of me is his to convert.
He lays upon me a rolling vista,
tempered only by the steel of his will.
He knows his truth sits well with me.

-